


Coming Up Who We Are

by Ginia



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Basically all of the things, De-aged Ignis, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 05:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14348679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginia/pseuds/Ginia
Summary: When a flash of light causes Ignis to revert to his six-year-old self, the guys think that at worst it will be a mild inconvenience for them until the spell wears off in a few days. At best, they'll have lots of blackmail material and embarrassing dirt on their normally straight-laced and oh-so-perfect friend.Or so they think, until they notice how strangely little Ignis behaves.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for the following prompt on the kinkmeme: https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4747.html?thread=9719435#cmt9719435
> 
> "In the usual spirit of de-aging fics, Iggy is bitten/covered in some sort of fluid/hit by a magic spell and reduced to small child. 
> 
> The other bros, learning that it’s only temporary and shouldn’t last beyond a week, initially find it hilarious. They think they’re going to have so much to blackmail their straight-laced buddy with.
> 
> Unfortunately, little Ignis’s behaviour soon make it clear that his childhood wasn’t rosy. He freaks out when he realises he can’t get back to the Citadel in time for his next lesson, almost has a panic attack when he knocks something over, and takes a quick step back when Gladio does to ruffle his hair. When one of the bros gets him into the bath later, they notice that he’s sorting some nasty looking welts.
> 
> It transpires that while some of the Citadel nannies/staff would never have harmed the prince, Ignis was not so lucky."
> 
> When I saw it I just had to. I HAD TO! I'm sorry! But I'm also not sorry?
> 
> If you've read Oh You Wondrous Creature, this is essentially a "what would have happened if Ignis and Gladio had never become friends, and then Ignis got himself de-aged during the game and the shit hit the fan."

Life, Gladio realizes, has a way of taking your expectations and flipping them upside-down on their head, then shoving a boot up their ass just for good measure.

This is supposed to be just another bounty hunt, requested by just another collection of harried civilians. All they hafta do is go in to the dank old cave, track down the spooky-wooky ghoul that’s been terrorizing the locals, smack it around with their weapons until it surrenders or explodes, and finally profit.

The daemon, while creepy as fuck with its glowing red eyes and spectral, semi-corporeal form, proves pleasantly simple to dispatch.  It uses some kind of shockwave attack against them, which makes Gladio’s eyebrows tingle but doesn’t seem to do much else. It’s more of a nuisance than a real threat.

The ghoul does employ magic against them, which is usually grounds for some concern, but rather than feeling weak with poison, heavy as stone, or (Gladio’s least favourite) being reduced to a croaking, hopping, useless frog, all the ghoul seems able to do is make them feel sluggish and slow. Time magic, Gladio realizes, when a well-aimed hit renders him temporarily immobile while the world around him continues to move past him in a blur of light and colour.

Despite the occasional inconvenience of one of his allies lagging or stalling in time entirely, they employ their usual battle strategy of Hit The Thing Really Hard Until It’s Dead to great effect.

Everything goes according to plan, until the weird purple light shows up.

Gladio has fought enough daemons and assorted nasties by now to recognize when an enemy is about to use a power move on them. This ghoul is definitely at that point. The thing has gone eerily still beneath a veneer of pulsating violet light. If Gladio squints he can actually see the way that the world around the creature stretches and distorts, like it’s drawing energy from the very fabric of existence to fuel whatever its clutch move is. 

“Finish it!” Gladio roars to be heard over the clash of weapons and the grunts and labored breaths of his companions. He doesn’t know what the damn thing is about to do, but he’s not about to find out if he can help it. With his luck it actually will turn him into a fucking frog after all.

His greatsword slams into the ghoul’s midsection, and quick as a wink Noctis is using it as a makeshift step stool, boosting himself up and overtop of the creature, the business end of his spear aimed for its core. Off to one side gunfire rings out in a familiar staccato, and on his other side he sees a dagger hurtling through the air at an almost impossible speed, probably propelled by a swift kick of Ignis’s bootheel, because the guy’s a goddamn show-off.

The ghoul emits a high-pitched wail that sends such shivers down Gladio’s spine that he can practically feel icicles forming there. It doesn’t seem to matter how many beasts and daemons he’s killed--he will never be unmoved by a creature’s death cry and the pure, undiluted rage and anguish somehow wrought into a wordless shriek.

A burst of violently purple light blasts out from the daemon’s core just as its final cry is echoing off of the cavern walls.  Gladio expects that with the creature down and dusted, that its last burst of twisted magic will fizzle and die as well.

Alas it is not to be. Life. Expectations. A firm boot to the ass.

Gladio’s world is reduced to a haze of violently bright light for a fraction of a second before it passes as quickly as it came.  In its wake, Gladio’s vision is marred by spots of purple and green light. He blinks furiously and squints, willing the now too-dark cavern to come into clearer focus. “Everyone alright?” he asks the cavern at large.

“Yeah. Might need glasses after that flash, but yeah.” Noctis grumbles from somewhere just ahead of him, beyond the veil of phantom lights still muddling his vision.

“A-okay over here, big guy!” Prompto calls from a few meters off, far enough away from the daemon to snipe at it with relative safety, but close enough that he too seems to be temporarily blinded by that beam of neon-bright light.

“Ignis?” Gladio calls to their remaining team member, who has been unsettlingly quiet so far. Normally Ignis would be the one asking after them in the wake of battle, checking them over for injuries, rationing out medical care of both the magical and mundane variety, and fretting about how he’s expected to patch another tear in their clothes.

When there’s no response something cold and heavy settles itself in the pit of his stomach, like he’s swallowed an iceberg. He’s too well-trained to panic just yet, though. Instead he fills his lungs and calls more loudly. “Iggy!” A pause in which Ignis’s silence sits like a black hole over their group, steadily absorbing their post-battle high spirits. “Ignis!” His voice bounces off of the stalactite-riddled ceiling and smacks him in his own eardrums.

“Specs?” Noctis calls, an uncharacteristic note of worry edging into his voice.

“Ignis? Buddy?” Prompto’s boots scrape across the cavern floor as he makes his way towards Gladio and Noctis’s position.

The world is just beginning to come into focus, blurry lines sharpening into something vaguely resembling the Prince next to him who is furiously rubbing at his eyes as if he can scrub away the phantom lights.

And that is when he hears it. It’s so quiet that it’s no wonder he couldn’t catch it over the booming echoes of his own voice, but there it is, a little voice so tremulous and frail that it’s still scarcely to be heard.

“Y-yes sir?”

They’re all silent for several long seconds that seem to stretch on into infinity as impossible thoughts race through Gladio’s mind. The pitch is far too high and the timbre too weak, but the accent is unmistakable.

It’s Noctis who breaks through the shocked silence first. “Ignis? Is that you?”

There’s a soft snuffling sound and a “Yes sir” that’s even quieter than the last.

Gladio’s head whips around in the direction of the too-soft, too-squeaky voice. His eyes are watery, but he can see clearly enough now to make the small figure out.

There, standing in what had been the burst of light’s path, is Ignis Scientia. His upswept cockatiel ‘do has been replaced by a bowl cut. His glasses are the thick plastic ones he wore in grade school and not his current slick metallic half-frames. He’s traded in his purple coeurl print, leather, and sparkling shoes for a simple white button up, short pants and knee socks. He’s little more than half his previous height, no more than three-and-a-half feet tall if he’s an inch.

And he looks as if he’s about to burst into tears.

 

 

 

 

.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter, updates will be a bit more "normal" in that they will be every few days/once a week and probably longer. Today was just weird because I wanted to get the setup taken care of but also didn't want to leave the prompter without a real taste of a little de-aged Iggy. <3

They scour their supplies, scrape through the dustiest, least-used and most forlorn corners of the Armiger, looking for any curative that might undo whatever amped up kind of time magic has done this to Ignis.  They try any and all curatives on him. When several remedies seem to have no effect, they splash the kid with an antidote, dust him with an echo herb, and even poke his little arm with a gold needle before Gladio eventually realizes two things.

One, they need to stop wasting their precious supply of curatives, otherwise when Ignis is restored to his normal self, he’ll kick all of their asses for being so wasteful, and then make them sit through an hour-long lecture on the merits of frugality and conservation.

Two, at some point between the first remedy and the maiden’s kiss that Prompto just sprinkled him with, Ignis has gone rigid with fear. His pupils are wide behind his lenses, dilated with terror, and there’s a fine tremor making him shiver in place.

Gladio thrusts an arm out across Noctis’s chest, just as the Prince had been advancing on the terror-stricken child with a hi-potion in one hand, a phoenix down in the other, and a look of dogged determination on his face. The Shield responds to Noct’s arched eyebrows with a subtle shake of his head.

“Stop. We’re scaring him, and none of this shit’s working anyway.” Gladio mutters.

“What if we try a remedy again,” Prompto pipes up, hands clapping together as a burst of inspiration seems to strike him like a bolt from the blue. “But we like, jazz it up by mixing it with an elixir? Kinda give it more oomph?”

There’s a lecture on the tip of Gladio’s tongue about how mixing different curatives together can cause chemical reactions that can render the items null and useless, or even outright dangerous, but any words are made entirely unnecessary when a soft trickling and splashing meets his ears.

Gladio slides his gaze down to the steadily expanding puddle by Ignis’s polished little loafers. For a split second he thinks that he must be mistaken, that it’s not what it looks—or sounds—like. But he tracks his gaze back up again, and there’s no mistaking the incriminating dark patch on Ignis’s khaki short pants, a wet line that snakes down one leg and even splashes onto his socks, staining the white material yellow.

“No way,” Noctis breathes, shock and awe ripe in his voice.

“Did Ignis?” Prompto asks, wide-eyed with incredulity.

“He did!” Noctis replies, and the little shit, Gladio can hear the note of glee underlying his words.  Meanwhile, Ignis has gone so pale that his cheeks are practically luminescent and he’s shaking so badly that his knobbly knees are actually knocking into each other.

“Dude, should I get a picture?” Prompto asks, his fingers already twitching in the direction of his camera, oblivious to how abjectly miserable Ignis is.

“Guys-“ Gladio tries, but Noctis’s voice steamrolls right over him.

“Dude, Specs will murder you in your sleep when he gets back to normal.”

“Orrrr pay handsomely to have the evidence destroyed.” A manic grin twists Prompto’s freckly cheeks.

“Hey guys-“ Gladio tries again, a bit louder this time, but to no avail.

They’re too caught up in their banter to notice how each word seems to hit Ignis like a physical blow. His feet are still rooted to the spot, but he flinches and cringes each time the chuckleheads talk about him.

“No vegetables for a week, or we send the pics to Vyv!” Noctis crows, a grin spreading across his face as well, just as stupid-looking as Prompto’s.

This isn’t funny. Well okay, maybe some day this will be hilarious, and Ignis will looks back on the time that he got de-aged by some wonky hell magic and pissed all over his tiny wee shoes, and they’ll all laugh about it over drinks or something. But in the here and now Gladio can see that the dam has burst and tears are collecting beneath Ignis’s glasses, and all he wants to do is comfort the kid. Maybe growing up with a sister a full eight years his junior has altered his perception of the world in a way that hasn’t ever affected the other two; it’s the only explanation for how fucking stupid they’re being.

“Shut up, dumbasses!“ Gladio growls again, a note of irritation sharpening his voice.

Two sets of wide blue eyes turn to look at him, and then they swiftly follow the path of Gladio’s amber glare back to Ignis, who now has fat tears rolling down his cheeks, his pale lips moving, forming words too soft for anyone to hear. Gladio thinks he might hear a whispered ‘apologies’ but he’s not certain.

The sight of Ignis in tears quickly sobers them up. Prompto even sinks to his knees, heedless of the cave muck and urine soaking into his jeans, so that he can be on Ignis’s level, all thoughts of experimenting on him with dodgy curatives or taking pictures of him forgotten.

“Hey buddy,” Prompto croons in the same soft sing-song voice he uses with his chocobo, stray cats, and really anything with four legs and/or feathers. “It’s okay, you don’t need to cry.”

Without their own banter and laughter to eclipse him, Gladio can finally hear Ignis speak.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Ignis’s voice is barely a whisper at this point as he stares miserably down at himself.

“It’s okay. Accidents happen to everyone,” Prompto flashes a falsely bright smile. “We’ll get you cleaned up, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Ignis says again, like a broken copy of the world’s saddest record.

“It’s okay, it’s our fault.” Noctis says softly from where he’s awkwardly hovering behind Prompto. “We shouldn’t have just come at you tossing curatives everywhere.  Anyone would be scared.”

“Yeah,” Prompto says agreeably, head down. “Sorry about that. I guess we got a little carried away.”

Ignis’s face scrunches up and a faint crease etches itself between his brows. Gladio’s seen that looks on him before, usually when he’s attempting to analyze a seemingly impossible problem, or trying to translate something written in an obscure branch of ancient Lucian.  It’s almost as if he doesn’t know how to process Noct’s and Prompto’s gentler attitudes.

Gladio clears his throat, commanding the others’ attention. “Okay. Here’s what we do.” No one questions him. Noctis and Prompto evidently recognizing their epic failure during the crisis so far, are content to let Gladio take point for now. “We get back to the car and drive to the nearest outpost so we can get Ignis cleaned up. On the way, Noct you call Cor, and Prompto you call Dave, see if either one of them have heard of a spell like this. See if there’s a cure or if we just need to wait it out.”

Noctis and Prompto both nod and reach into their pockets for their phones.

“As for you,” Gladio sinks down to one knee in an effort to make himself even marginally less intimidating. He offers Ignis a gentle smile, the kind of smile that he normally reserves exclusively for Iris. “We always use the buddy system when out in the field, and you’re my buddy, got it?”

Ignis inhales a deep, shuddering breath and nods very seriously. It’s pretty endearing, if Gladio’s being honest. Beneath the tears, the fright, and the acrid smell of pee, there is an undeniably cute kid underneath it all.  He’s sure that Ignis’s initial (horrible) reaction to everything is due entirely to the shock of a bunch of weirdos throwing random junk on him, and the embarrassment of having an accident. He’s confident that they’ll get Ignis back to his normal, stuffy, adult self in no time, and in the meantime they’ll make the most of having a smaller, cuter version of Ignis around.

Hell, this might end up being fun after all.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Fortunately, they’re able to get Ignis cleaned up with minimal fuss. Noctis summons one of Ignis’s towels from the Armiger, and although they intend to help the little guy dry himself off, Ignis is proving himself to be a remarkably self-sufficient six-year-old. He deftly tugs the towel from Noct’s hands and, with the three men gazing at him with fond wonderment, he turns his back to them and begins to quickly and efficiently dry himself off, dabbing at the worst of the wetness with surprisingly careful hands for a little kid.

When Ignis is finished, they banish the towel to the depths of the Armiger and prepare to make their way out of the cavern.  It seems as if Ignis has taken care of the worst of the mess, and if he’s still a bit wet and uncomfortable in places he doesn’t voice any complaints.

Not being given any particular instructions, Ignis is simply standing quietly to one side with his head lowered, worrying at his bottom lip with his lone front tooth. Gladio imagines that he’s still embarrassed about his accident. Feeling sorry for the kid, he reaches a hand out, meaning to ruffle his hair to try and coax a smile out of him—that always worked with Iris when she was in a sulk—but as soon as Ignis sees Gladio’s shadow looming over him and his outstretched hand, the kid is nimbly hopping back a step, his scrawny arms flung protectively over his head.

The corners of Gladio’s mouth tug down sharply at the response, which is more reminiscent of a skittish wild chocobo than a little kid. He shrugs it off and chalks it up to Ignis still being jumpy in the wake of being transported to some random cave with a bunch of (apparent) strangers, being assaulted with half the contents of a medical kit, and then wetting himself. It would be a lot to handle for anyone, let alone a child.

Yeah. The kid’s had a heck of a morning, and Gladio is willing to give him some space. Fully-grown Ignis tends to be fairly reserved, and so it seems only natural that his younger self is also that way. Free with his wit and intellect, but stingy with physical gestures, that’s their Iggy in a nutshell.In fact, Gladio isn’t sure if he’s ever seen Ignis offer more than a brief clap on the shoulder to anyone, including Noctis.

“It’s okay,” Prompto suddenly speaks up, having also noticed Ignis’s nervousness. “The big guy here looks scary but he’s a big softie, really.”

“Yeah,” Noct’s gaze flicks between Gladio and Ignis. “Those aren’t muscles he’s packin’ under that shirt, it’s all marshmallow.” The Prince jabs a finger into a muscular pectoral for emphasis.

Gladio grunts and shoots Noctis a glare.  His indignation is slightly quelled by the tentative smile Ignis offers in response to the teasing, and a soft huff of air that might be the beginnings of laughter.

“Very funny,” Gladio rolls his eyes at Noctis and Prompto, but when he turns to Ignis he offers a crooked half-smile and a wink. “Let’s get going, buddy.”

Ignis straightens his posture, smartening himself up for the very important mission he was given earlier, of being Gladio’s buddy in the field. “Yes sir,” he says, voice small but more confident than it has been. Even at a young age it seems that taking orders come naturally to him. That’s good; they can use this to their advantage when wrangling the runt.

It will take them at least fifteen minutes to hike back to the car, and the terrain is fairly rugged. Ordinarily, Gladio would scoop a little kidlet like Ignis up and carry him to save everyone substantial time and trouble. However, he decides to respect Ignis’s personal bubble, instead opting to shorten his long strides so the kid doesn’t have to jog to keep up with them, and the other two match his reduced pace automatically. He keeps Ignis within arm’s reach, though, ready to catch him if he trips or stumbles on the uneven ground.

As they retrace their steps, Gladio notices that while he’s carefully watching Ignis, the kid is also eyeballing the three of them, though he tries to do so surreptitiously, peeking out from under his fringe of light brown hair. His bright green eyes flicker from side to side, drinking in every little detail in an attempt to quench his endless thirst for knowledge. Gladio sees the way Ignis’s eye catches on the Crownsguard logo on his tank top and how his gaze lingers on the red soles of their combat boots, probably trying to figure out who they are.

Right on cue a slightly breathless voice breaks through his train of thought. “Excuse me, sir? Are you with the Crownsguard?”

The cogs in Gladio’s brain churn sluggishly along as he tries to work out how best to answer not only that question, but the dozen other questions that are probably bubbling away in the kid’s sharp little mind. At the very least he decides that there’s no point in denying what they are; it’s obvious that Ignis has already recognized their fatigues. If he denies being Crownsguard, Iggy is probably going to think they murdered some soldiers and stole their clothes, and then he’ll _really_ be terrified of them.

“Yeah, we are,” he confirms. Then, before Ignis can launch into a flurry of questions, he intercepts with one of his own. “What’s the last thing that you remember before showing up back there?” He jerks a thumb in the direction that they came from, towards the depths of the cave.

At this point they make it to the mouth of the cave, and they all draw in deep breaths of fresh air, revelling in the warmth of the mid-morning sun. To either side of Gladio, the other two swipe their smartphones on, verify their mobile connection, and start making calls as per Gladio’s earlier instructions.

“I was in my room, working on an essay for...“ With an audible click of his teeth Ignis’s jaw snaps shut and he comes skittering to a stop a few feet past the cave’s entrance. His eyes are wide as saucers as he simply stares in utter bafflement at his surroundings—at the open sky free of the Wall’s constant ethereal shimmer and at a horizon that stretches on into infinity without skyscrapers to obstruct the view.

“Hold up, guys!” Gladio calls to the other two, their pace trickling to a halt a few meters away, though they continue to murmur quietly into their respective phones.

“S-sir?” Ignis asks, his voice feeble and halting. “Where am I?”

It seems that now that Ignis is recovering from the initial shock of his sudden materialization and subsequent mishaps in the cave, he’s starting to gather his wits about him. And he may be a child, but he’s still Ignis Scientia. The kid standing before him is someday going to earn a university degree at an age where most kids are still struggling through high school. He’ll someday sit in on Council meetings in Noctis’s stead, and though he’s officially there only to take notes for the Prince, Gladio has heard the Councillors ask for his opinion on a topic more than once.

He’s still Ignis Scientia, and even at the tender age of six, his wits are considerable. Gladio finds it embarrassingly nerve-wracking to have those wits levelled against him now, even with Ignis in his current condition..

Gladio clears his throat and decides that it’s probably best to keep things vague for now, at least until they have a better idea about what the hell is actually going on. He opts to focus on reassuring Ignis. “You’re safe. You’re outside the city because of a bit of magic. We’re gonna take care of everything.”

Ignis frowns, lips pressing tightly together in a familiar line that essentially screams his disapproval at the half-answer he’s been given. He nods in acceptance, but the guarded look in his eyes doesn’t lessen—if anything it only gets worse.

Off to the side it seems that Noctis and Prompto have each wrapped up their calls and are whispering to each other, presumably pooling whatever intel they were able to wrangle out of Cor and Dave.

“Are you going to take me home?” There’s a tremor in Ignis’s voice that does things to Gladio’s heartstrings. It’s not so much that they’re being tugged on as they are being ripped out of his damn chest through the gaps in his ribs.

Gladio has no fucking clue if this kid will ever see Insomnia again, and so he does the only thing that he can—he lies through his goddamn teeth. “Yup. Just leave it to me.” He flashes his most confident grin.

Ignis lets out a breath, his thin shoulders slumping as a fraction of his tension leaves his small body. “Oh good, I have a geography lesson after lunch. I’ll be back in time for that, right?”

“Uhh…” Gladio hesitates. He doesn’t want to make too many promises that he can’t keep. He has no idea how any of this time bullshit works. Is this the same Ignis he grew up with? If so, he doesn’t remember the kid ever going missing, not even for an afternoon. Ignis’s attendance record and punctuality is the stuff of legends. Somewhere his former instructors are erecting a monument in its honor, Gladio is sure of it.  Then again, maybe that daemon just punched a great hole in the space-time continuum, and this is now a world where Ignis did go missing, or at least missed a geography lesson.

Regardless, Gladio is taking way too long to answer, and that in itself is answer enough for Ignis.

Ignis doesn’t cry, not like he did back in the cave when he wet himself. Nor does he stomp his feet and pout, like his little sister would have (although admittedly she wouldn’t do it over a missed lesson). Instead every last hint of colour drains from his cheeks, leaving him like a pale spectre beneath the glare of the morning sun. His suspenders strain against the swell of his small chest as he heaves, gasping for breaths that refuse to properly fill his lungs.

“No!” Ignis slaps a hand to his mouth, bug-eyed with horror behind his spectacles. “No, no, no!” His cries of ‘no’ soon dissolve into a series of breathless gasps. Ignis plants his hands on his knees as he doubles over, the entirety of his small body shuddering violently.

Gladio’s knees hit the dirt and Noctis and Prompto soon follow, all three men dropping down to Ignis’s level, hovering awkwardly around the distraught boy.

“What the fuck did you do, Gladio?” Noctis hisses out of the corner of his mouth, though his eyes never leave Ignis.

“Nothing, damnit!” Gladio mutters defensively.

“Language!” Prompto chides them both before shifting all of his focus on Ignis. He plasters on one of his patented sunny smiles and tries to reassure him. “Hey champ, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Ignis hiccups miserably and just shakes his head so furiously that it’s a wonder he doesn’t give himself whiplash. “Can’t. Can’t m-miss my l-l-lesson.” He can hardly get the words out between strangled gasps. “No, no, no…”

“It’s okay, buddy. We’ll get you back, and even if you miss a lesson or two that’s okay, everyone does.” Gladio tries to sound encouraging.

“N-no!” Ignis’s voice, already high-pitched with youth, manages to rise another octave. “”I’ll b-be in t-t-trouble!” He trembles where he stands. “Please!”

Gladio would find Ignis’s dedication to his studies endearing, if he weren’t in the throes of some sort of panic attack. Ignis has always been a stickler for rules and order for as long as Gladio can remember, but this seems like a pretty extreme reaction, even for Ignis.

Before he or Noctis can fully process what’s happening, Prompto is in motion, a blur of blonde hair and mismatched clothing that swoops down upon Ignis. The kid lets out a confused little squeak as Prompto throws his arms around him and tugs him against his chest. They end up in the dirt in a messy tangle of limbs, with Ignis still cradled protectively against Prompto.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s really okay. We’ll make sure it’s okay.” Prompto murmurs an endless stream of reassuring nonsense into Ignis’s ear. The kid continues to quake with silent sobs, but Gladio thinks that Ignis’s breathing grows easier and easier the more Prompto coos soothingly to him. “You’re alright, not gonna let anything happen to you, you’re doing really good, Ignis, like super good.”

Gladio sees Noctis reach a hand out, hesitant and unsure, being finally laying his palm against Ignis’s narrow back and awkwardly rubbing it in tiny circles. “Yeah. Uh, it’s okay.” Noctis chimes in, trying to be helpful.

It takes a few minutes, but Ignis eventually calms down enough that he can breathe without choking. When he’s calm, Prompto gently peels Ignis off of him, but doesn’t let him get too far.

“C’mon. Let’s head back. All aboard the Prompto Express, okay? Choo-choo!” Prompto’s smile is infectious and even Ignis, miserable as he is with his blotchy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, can’t help trying to return the gesture. He manages a shy little half-smile, which morphs into a full-blown grin and a delighted whoop when Prompto scoops him up and settles him onto his shoulders.

Prompto bounces to his feet, jiggling Ignis, who has to grab a handful of blonde hair to keep his balance. Fortunately Prompto’s ridiculous hairstyle and copious use of gel actually makes it perfect for Ignis to grab onto.

Prompto gamely ignores the fact that Ignis’s pants are still stained and that his shoes are leaving little scuff marks where they press into his vest. Gladio feels a sudden rush of appreciation for the other man.

Ignis seems happy enough to perch on Prompto’s shoulders, surveying the world from a lofty height that he won’t achieve on his own for at least another decade. They all resume their trek back to the car, and as there’s no time like the present, and no sense trying to hide anything from someone as sharp as Ignis, Gladio presses the others for what they were able to learn.

“So? What did you guys find out?”

Prompto is busy bobbing his way along the path with a now-smiling Ignis in tow, so Noctis takes it upon himself to explain, his voice pitched low so that Ignis won’t overhear. “It should wear off on its own in a few days--a week tops.”

“Good.” Gladio lets out a long exhale. “I was afraid we’d have to go running all over the ass-end of the world to find potion ingredients. Cool. So this has happened before?”

Noctis nods. “Yeah. Not often, I think? But yeah. It’ll wear off and he'll be good as new.”

“Will he remember any of this?”

Noctis shrugs. “Cor wasn’t sure. He said it’s possible, but odds are the small one won’t. Something about time being wibbly wobbly and the fabric of the universe tearing itself apart from the inside if he finds out stuff about his future.”

“Time paradoxes,” Gladio supplies helpfully.

“Yeah. He’s not totally sure, though, so he uh, suggested that we try to keep some stuff on the down low, just to be safe.”

Gladio nods. “That’s smart. No need to complicate shi… stuff.” He corrects his language with a grunt. Keeping a lid on his potty mouth is gonna be fuckin’ hard.

Noctis nods. “Cor said it’d be best if he not know who I am, because that’ll open a huge can of worms that we don’t want to deal with, and if he does remember, then, y’know, that whole space-time continuum eating itself alive thing.”

Gladio hums thoughtfully and wracks his brain, trying to remember if they’ve called each other by name yet. Prompto isn’t a big deal, and neither is Gladio really, since at Ignis’s current age their lives weren’t so intertwined as they are now, and the two probably hadn’t even met yet. Noctis, on the other hand… “Guess old Noctgar is back, eh?”

Noctis’s nose crinkles up, like he’s just been offered a heaping serving of three bean salad. “Great.”

Gladio chuckles and thumps Noctis between his shoulder blades. “C’mon, it’s only a week at most.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Noctis rolls his eyes. “Anyway, so yeah. Sounds like we just need to hang tight and this should sort itself out.  Oh, according to Dave the smaller one should pop right back to where and when he came from, so uh, we should probably let him know that much, so he won’t freak out about his lessons and stuff.”

Gladio nods, his brow furrowing. “Yeah. If it’s gonna be a few days he’s gonna fret himself right into a brain aneurysm or something.”

Noctis’s eyes widen. “Oh damn, like, I know that was just hyperbole, but what if something happens to him here? What happens to his future self?"”

Gladio huffs an amused breath of laughter. “Okay one, don’t let Iggy Senior hear you using hyperbole in a sentence. He’d die of friggin' pride. “ Noctis punches his arm good-naturedly. Gladio smirks. “Secondly, and seriously though, we just have to make sure nothing happens to him.”

“Iggy protection squad?” Noctis quirks a grin and holds a fist up for Gladio to bump knuckles with him.

“Damn straight.”

With a grin, Noctis jogs ahead to catch up with Ignis and the Prompto Express, presumably to explain to Ignis that it might take a few days, but he’ll be returned to the exact time and place he came from. Fortunately Ignis has enough exposure to magic and magical theory in his daily life at the Citadel that he should be malleable and receptive.

Meanwhile Gladio hangs back a few paces, keeping an eye on all three of his friends. His mission should be a simple one: keep the Prince safe, keep Prompto out of trouble, and look after arguably the most well-behaved six-year-old to ever walk the planet.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

By the time the group makes it back to the Regalia, Gladio is relieved to see the change that has come over Ignis. Beneath the fussy formal clothing that likely serves as Ignis’s uniform, beneath the weight of anxiety, fear and sense of responsibility the kid labors beneath, beneath all of that there is still a little kid who squeals and laughs when Prompto bounces him on his shoulders or runs circles with him around Gladio and Noct.

Gladio decides then and there that the next time blondie wants to rent chocobos, he won’t voice any complaint about how they need to save their gil, and how they all have two feet and a heartbeat.

Ignis is red-faced and breathless from laughter as he’s deposited into the backseat of the Regalia. Despite the high spirits that would render most children miniature terrors, Ignis is still well-behaved and obedient. He’s clearly enamored with the high-end luxury car, bright green eyes practically glued to the dash and its fancy controls, but he keeps his fidgeting to a minimum while Prompto fumbles with the seatbelt.

“Cool car, eh kid.” Gladio offers him a grin as he opens his door and slides into place beside Ignis.

Embarrassed at being caught gawking, Ignis ducks his head, a rush of heat adding to the colour already perfusing his cheeks. He nods fervently and shyly says “Yes Sir. It’s really nice. The nicest.”

Gladio chuckles warmly. “Maybe sometime we’ll letcha ride up front and teach you some of the controls.”

Ignis’s head snaps up so quickly that his glasses bounce on his nose. “Really!? Honest!?”

The kid is practically vibrating with excitement. Gladio realizes then that probably children Ignis’s size are supposed to ride in the back for safety reasons. But damnit, the kid looks so excited and so happy, and it’s such a stark contrast from the miserable display he’d made not fifteen minutes ago. Gladio knows damn well he’s completely fucked. He’d probably let the kid drive if he thought it’d keep a smile on his face.

“Sure thing, kid. You can be in charge of the radio if your training goes well.” Gladio figures a six-year-old can’t be any worse at DJ duty than Prompto, who has the attention span of a fucking goldfish. The guy blows through channels like it’s a damn race.

Ignis looks as if he’s just been told that his birthday came early. A bright smile splits his face, and Gladio notices that he’s not only missing a front tooth, but one of his bottom teeth as well. The kid looks like a cute version of those pumpkins people carve for Hallowe’en.

“Thank you, Sir!”

Gladio makes a face. Hearing Ignis address him as ‘Sir’ is pretty damn precious, but it’s uncomfortable as well.  “You can just call me Gladio.” he advises. “And you can call the one with the hair like a chocobo’s backside Prompto. The guy who always looks bored is Noct Gar, but we mostly call him Noct for short.”

“Like His Highness.” Ignis’s mint green eyes brighten as if the mere mention of the Prince makes the sun rise and the birds sing in Ignis’s world.  

Gladio laughs gently and makes a noncommittal sound.

Just then Noctis and Prompto settle into their places up front, their seatbelts clicking almost in unison, because there’s just something about having a small child in the car that makes everyone suddenly safety conscious. It’s hard to believe that just yesterday Prompto was standing up and Noctis was sitting on the rear panel while they sped through the Duscae countryside without a damn care.

Noctis takes a few moments to adjust his seat, since Ignis and his long legs had been its last occupant. “We all good?” he asks once he’s settled.

“Aye-aye!” Prompto gives a sloppy approximation of a salute.

“Yup.” Gladio nods.

“Yes Mr. Noct Gar.” Ignis smothers a grin beneath his hand, giddy with the perceived indiscretion of almost addressing a grown up without an honorific. The scandal of it all. .Gladio just chuckles because, well, it’s a start.

* * *

The bounty hunt that took them to this area needs to be turned in back in Lestallum, but it goes without saying that they won’t ask Ignis to suffer through the five hour drive it’ll take to get back there. Even if his clothes weren’t damp and uncomfortable in places, that’s a long haul for a little kid. Instead they head for the nearest outpost, less than an hour away.

Gladio at least has pretty much resolved himself to the fact that until Ignis returns to normal, they’re going to have to take it easy and travel at a pace that Ignis can keep up with. As an adult, Ignis is notoriously self-sacrificing. Gladio has seen the way he pushes himself, practically mainlining coffee in an effort to keep going through the endless cooking, laundering, fighting, driving, and planning. He worries that small Ignis will be as stubborn as his older self about asking for a rest.

The drive is refreshingly quiet. After all of the chaos and confusion from earlier in the day, they all seem content to be alone with their thoughts. For once Prompto isn’t fiddling with the radio, and the only soundtrack to their little adventure is the wind whipping through the trees and the distant cries of birds and beasts.

Ignis, at least, seems sufficiently content. His neck cranes side to side as he tries to look at absolutely everything, from the controls on the dash to the exotic landscapes, to the patches on Prompto’s vest. His sharp eyes drink in every detail, his insatiable thirst for knowledge and understanding so obvious that it makes something in Gladio’s chest hurt, it’s so endearing, and so quintessentially Ignis.

Despite Ignis’s obvious curiosity, he sits still and quiet in his place behind Noctis. He spends most of the drive with his small hands folded neatly in his lap, watching the Duscae countryside pass by in a whirl of lush greens and earthy browns. He looks as if he could be waiting for an audience with the King, or sitting in on a Council session.

When they finally pull up onto the patch of level ground that serves as parking in this backwater shithole outpost , Gladio honestly can’t tell at a glance if they’ve been here before or not. All of the smaller towns and outposts tend to look the same to him. There’s a red pickup truck with a hodgepodge of goods for sale out of the back and a caravan that they can rent for a night, and that seems to be it in terms of amenities. It makes sense, Gladio figures. They’re between Lestallum and Old Lestallum, and most travellers would be content to push onwards towards one or the other, provided they have a few hours of daylight. This dump probably doesn’t see many visitors.

They unbuckle themselves and exit the vehicle--except for Noct, who is so unused to wearing his damn seatbelt despite all of Ignis’s nagging on the matter that the idiot opened his door and tried to tumble out of the car with his seatbelt still securely fastened. Prompto, bless him, acts quickly and snaps a few pics of the Prince flailing against the side of the Regalia, his torso pinned to his seat, legs dangling towards the ground.

“Moron,” Gladio chides, torn between amusement and exasperation. Apparently royal dignity skipped a generation in the Caelum line.

Noctis promptly salutes his Shield with his middle finger.

“Classic, Noct!” Prompto cackles as he puts away his camera and, true friend that he is, goes over to help his prince untangle himself from the seatbelt.

Even Ignis seems amused by their antics, his worried frown tilting upwards into a tentative smile.

They make their way towards the caravan, with Noctis huffing and smoothing out his wrinkled t-shirt, an air of wounded dignity about him. Prompto skips on ahead to pay the fee and unlock the door. Gladio looks down at Ignis and extends one of his big hands to the kid. “Be my buddy again?”

Ignis nods very seriously. He takes a moment to straighten his glasses before taking hold of two of Gladio’s thick fingers.

Gladio leads Ignis by the hand over to the caravan, which Ignis finds utterly fascinating.

“Is it a car? Or a house?”

“A bit of both!” Prompto calls from just inside the caravan’s now open door.

“Neat!” Ignis exclaims.

They all chuckle. Gladio wonders if, like him, the other guys are reflecting on the irony of the situation. Ignis absolutely fucking hates staying in caravans. He claims that they’re shabby and uncomfortable, but just close enough to civilization to make him long for the true comfort and convenience of a hotel. He’d once spent two hours scrubbing and disinfecting a caravan’s kitchen before he would deign to cook in it, before loudly announcing that a haven in a swamp would be cleaner, and could they _please_ just camp next time?

“It doesn’t drive anymore.” Noctis explains. “They keep them parked here and there for people like us to stay at when we’re on the road. It has electricity and running water and everything.”

“Wow,” Ignis breathes, awestruck.

Gladio helps Ignis up the steps, ensuring that he doesn’t trip.  “Go have a look around.” When Ignis looks unsure of himself, he offers some gentle encouragement. “It’s okay. Go explore for a few minutes while we get organized.”

“Scout out where you want to sleep!” Prompto suggests cheerfully.

“Where I want to sleep?” Ignis asks, unable to stop himself from rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “You mean we’re staying the night in the house car?!”

“It’s called a caravan,” Noctis corrects Ignis for probably the first time in his entire life. “And yeah. So go pick your bed. You can have first dibs.”

“Gosh, thank you!” Ignis ducks into a clumsy little bow before scampering off to check out their home for the night.  

“So cute!” Prompto hisses in a stage whisper. “Like, the cutest!”

“When he’s not scared out of his mind,” Gladio mutters.

“Yeah.” Prompto deflates a bit, some of his vibrancy dimmed by the memory of little Ignis in tears and choking on his anxiety.

In the background they can hear Ignis opening and closing cabinets and pulling aside curtains. Gladio keeps his voice pitched low enough that Ignis can’t hear it over the noise of his exploration. “Noct, was Iggy like that a lot as a kid?”

“Cute?”

Gladio rolls his eyes. “ _Scared_.”

Noctis frowns and slowly shakes his head. “He was always obsessed with his duties and being perfect, but I never saw him freak out like that before.”

“Maybe he wouldn’t do it in front of you.” Prompto suggests quietly.

Noctis nods in agreement. ”Yeah. Probably.” He sighs and shrugs helplessly.

“Listen,” Gladio murmurs, keeping an eye on Iggy, who has found a set of bunk beds and is eagerly climbing the ladder to inspect the top bunk. “Just be careful, okay? Something is off. I don’t know what, but it’s more than him taking his duties seriously. Go easy on him, and try not to set him off.”

Noctis and Prompto nod.

“So, what now?” Prompto asks, shifting his weight from foot to foot in that restless way he has.

Since no one else seems keen to take up the reins, Gladio claps his hands together and does what he does best. “Prompto, show Iggy how the shower works and get his stuff in the laundry.”

“Can do!” Prompto beams.

Gladio turns to Noctis. “Noct, plan our week. Our next move should be a trip to Lestallum to cash in that bounty and stock up on supplies. Ignis is gonna need some things. Check the map and our Shit To Do list. See if we have some nice safe courier jobs on there, or some easy stuff two of us can handle while the other stays with Ignis.”

Noctis flashes a quick thumbs up before pulling out his phone and sliding into the kitchen booth.

Gladio squeezes himself into the caravan’s tiny kitchen to sort out something for lunch. He’s nowhere near Ignis’s league, but he gets by. They have a good supply of Saxham rice, and some leftover chickatrice meat that Iggy butchered yesterday. He’s pretty sure he can manage some simple rice bowls. He pulls out a pot and sets to filling it with water from the tap.

Gladio lets the soft, domestic noises of the caravan and his companions wash over him. He can hear Noctis a few feet away at the booth, tapping away on his phone and occasionally rustling their map. Deeper in the caravan he can hear the telltale clunking and groaning of the pipes as Prompto gets Ignis ready for his shower.

There are a few unlabelled tins of spices tucked in with Ignis’s cooking supplies. Gladio is just sniffing at one that he’s pretty sure is crushed saffron threads when Prompto comes padding down the length of the caravan, a small beige and white bundle of clothing in his hands.

“Eh, it’s probably fine,” he mumbles to himself as he sprinkles the saffron(?) into the pot.

“I already miss Specs’ cooking,” Noctis deadpans, head still bowed over whatever notes he’s making.

“You’re gonna love my vegetable stew. I make it with extra beans.” Gladio taunts him.

Rather than cannonball into the banter as he typically would, Prompto quietly opens the small washing machine tucked into a corner of the kitchenette. Gladio can hear him turning the dials to set the cycle and water temperature before he adds detergent and finally starts the washer.

Gladio looks up from what he’s doing to glance over at Prompto, who is becoming more and more conspicuous by his uncharacteristic silence. He’d expected him to join in on teasing Noct, or maybe to start crowing about how cute Ignis is playing in the caravan’s shower. Instead, the blond is standing there, leaning heavily against the counter, cerulean gaze fixed on a random bit of floor.

“Hey. You good?” Gladio asks just loudly enough to be heard over the hum of the washing machine and the distant staccato of the shower.

Prompto jolts in place, as if forgetting that Gladio and Noctis are crammed into this small space with him. Instead of answering, though, his teeth clamp down on his bottom lip, worrying at the skin hard enough to leave marks.

“Prompto?” Gladio sets down the sweet pepper he was about to cut into strips.

“Y-yeah. I’m good. Sorry big guy.” Prompto laughs nervously and fidgets with his armband, tugging and turning the strips of leather between his fingers.

Gladio frowns because that was the worst display of acting since his kindergarten class play. He’s about to press the issue when Prompto speaks up again.

“Hey Gladio?”

“Yeah?” He takes a step away from the stove, telegraphing that Prompto has his time and attention.

“Um, how old was Ignis when he started weapons training?”

Gladio can feel his brows shoot up so high and so fast that he nearly gives himself a headache. He doesn’t know what he’d expected, honestly, but questions about Ignis’s training regimen weren’t anywhere near the list. “Uhh,” he has to think back, mentally rewinding his memories. “Probably 14 or 15?”

“Oh.” Prompto frowns, the corners of his eyes tight, lips pursed into a bitter pucker, looking more worried than ever.

Gladio waits for Prompto to continue, because the cold sweat suddenly dripping down his spine tells him that the guy has more to say, and somehow Gladio knows he’s not going to like it.

Prompto’s voice is small, fragile as spun glass when he asks, “Did he do any physical training when he was that little?”

Something made of prickly little spikes is curling and twisting in Gladio’s gut, not fully understanding but definitely not liking where this line of questioning is going. He frowns, thinking back further, to long days spent in the training hall as a kid. He doesn’t remember seeing Ignis there until they were nearly teenagers, when Gladio was bulking up nicely and Ignis still looked like a nerdy beanpole. Instead he recalls Ignis spending most of his early years at the Citadel in the library, buried beneath mountains of books that were well beyond his age group. “I don’t think so. Noct?” He nods his head towards their prince, who has been quiet through their exchange,

Noct sets his phone down on the worn and faded tabletop. “He started some physical conditioning when he was around ten, not long after I started.” A soft, fond smile briefly curls his lips. “I think he thought it would motivate me if he started working out, too.”  He tilts his head, regarding Prompto’s anxious expression through a fringe of dark hair. “Why?”

The linoleum squeaks as Prompto scuffs his boot against a tile. The blond draws his arms to his chest and hunches his shoulders.

“Prompto?” Gladio asks, trying to keep his voice calm and neutral despite the apprehension that is slowly shredding his guts to ribbons.

Prompto refuses to meet either of their worried gazes when he answers. “Um, it’s just, he’s got a lot of marks? I figured--I hoped--it was from training?” There’s a hopeful lilt to his voice, one last plea for them to reassure him.

Noctis slides out of the booth before Gladio has a chance to try to stop him. Resigned, he follows Noctis down the length of the caravan, to the small bathroom near the back. A sliding accordion-style door offers the barest illusion of privacy, and before anyone can bring up the morality of spying on a kid in the bath, Noctis is easing the door open a few inches so they can peer in at Ignis. The shower is separated from the rest of the caravan by a panel of cheap, clear plastic. No frosting, no fancy patterns engraved in it to preserve the occupant’s modesty. Just a simple barrier against water damage.

Everything seems to stop and the rest of the world melts into a distant blur. All that Gladio can hear is the blood pounding in his veins, and all he can see is Ignis standing in the shower, his back to the door as he rinses soap off his front, leaving his back on full and grotesque display.

A series of raised marks criss-cross Ignis’s thin back. Some are old, pale pink and barely puckering the skin. Others are newer, bright red with fresh sores that threaten to break beneath the water pressure. Beneath the welts is a patchwork of bruising in various ugly shades of purple, blue, and yellow.

They are definitely not the kind of marks you should see on a kid who spends all of his time studying. Hell, Gladio realizes with a painful jolt, these aren’t even the kinds of marks a kid like him would have sported, and he spent most of his childhood training and roughhousing. He’s had more than his fair share of bruises, cuts, scrapes and breaks. But he’s never looked like someone used his back as their personal punching bag, and he can’t think of any crown-issued weapon that would leave welts like those. They’re too long, too straight, and too uniform.

The truth that he’s been denying since the moment that Ignis shied away from his touch hits him full force in the chest, and for a moment he can’t breathe through the pain and the shock of it.

It’s Noctis who snaps out of his horrorstuck paralysis first. The prince shoulders Gladio and Prompto roughly out of the way and staggers towards the caravan door. It creaks open and they can hear the distinct sound of retching and something wet splattering against the ground.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update so soon? Yup. Having this sitting in my google docs was depressing me. It must be set free!
> 
> Fair warning: This is the sad chapter.

Gladio feels as if he’s being slowly, agonizingly, torn in two. Each molecule, each atom of his very being feels like it’s being split down the middle, with one half aching to run into the bathroom to hug Ignis and never let him go, while the other half longs to chase after Noctis to share in and hopefully lessen his grief and hurt.

He locks gazes with Prompto, and sees a mirror of his own misery reflected in there, the same inner turmoil twisting his features.

Prompto draws in a shaky breath and whispers. “You go. I’ve got this.”

Gladio’s feet remain rooted in place, even as Prompto begins fussing with their gear, pulling out towels and spare clothes, presumably looking for something to put Ignis in while his clothes are being cleaned. He just can’t seem to move, somewhere between his brain and his feet the signal is short-circuiting.

Seeing him still stuck there like a great lump, Prompto sighs. “Noct needs you right now. This can wait a few more minutes.” A hand pats his shoulder, gently encouraging him to move.

There’s a subtle implication there, a reminder in not quite so many words that whatever is going on with Ignis, it has been going on for awhile. How long, he wonders. Some of those marks looked weeks old. And then, how much longer does this go on for? He thinks back on his childhood memories of Ignis--sparse as they may be--and wonders if the quiet, bespectacled boy in his memories, the prince’s silent, helpful shadow, had been suffering like this the entire time.

Prompto is correct, though. A few more minutes won’t matter to Ignis, who seems perfectly content for the moment. Noctis, on the other hand, is another story. Gladio can’t even imagine how ripped up and stomped on his heart must feel. While Gladio had hardly known Ignis until they were in their teens, Noctis had grown up with Ignis by his side every single day, and whoever was doing this to Ignis, Noctis would have _known_ them.

With a sigh he finally moves. It feels like someone has loaded his boots up with lead weights, but he forces one foot in front of the other and slowly makes his way towards the open caravan door. He has just enough forethought to push it shut behind him, hopefully blocking Prompto and Ignis from whatever he and Noct are about to say.

He finds his prince about where he expects--crouched down in the dirt beside the caravan steps, half-heartedly wiping the corners of his mouth. He’s a mess, and Gladio’s not referring to the dirt on his knees or the flecks of bile on his boots.

“Please tell me,” Noctis begins in a voice raw with emotion and with the aftereffects of being sick, “that there’s a logical explanation for that.”

Gladio doesn’t say anything. Instead he carefully steps around the puddle of sick and cops a squat next to Noct.

“Gladio,” Noctis says, his voice regaining some of its strength. “Tell me what the fuck that was.”

“I don’t know,” Gladio says, honestly.

Noctis shivers despite the warm, humid air. “I don’t care how far fetched and unlikely it is. Give me some kind of fucking explanation for that other than the really shitty one I’ve already come up with.”

Gladio’s silence damns him and they both know it.

There's no chance that Ignis sustained those injuries while with them. They’d been watching him too closely. There’s no way that the magic that de-aged him had somehow hurt him, because they’d used half of their curatives on him in an effort to reverse the spell. The only injuries that could have survived that onslaught of magical healing would be old ones, ones that had time to settle into a person’s body. And as they’d just been over with Prompto in the kitchen, Ignis’s childhood had been a sheltered one, holed up in the Citadel studying and being a companion to Noctis.

“We’re gonna hafta to talk to him,” Gladio finally says. “Sitting here playing guessing games won’t help anyone, and it’ll just make us even more miserable.”

“I think I deserve to be miserable,” Noctis snaps.

“No.” Gladio sets a hand on Noct’s back. The other tries to shake him off, but Gladio is persistent and digs his fingers in. “No, you _don’t_. This is what I’m talking about. This won’t help. I know what you’re thinking, and I’m telling you right now to stop it. Whatever this is, it’s not your fault.”

“Ignis is like my brother,” Noctis says, voice small, crushed with defeat. “Someone was hurting my brother, probably on a regular basis, and I didn’t notice. I didn’t fucking notice. I was too self-absorbed to notice or care.”

“You were four goddamned years old, Noctis.” Gladio lets out a long, harsh breath. “I know I ride you pretty hard to take responsibility and step up as the prince, but some things really aren’t on you.”

“Specs would’ve noticed if it had been me. I always knew he was the better person. Now I have fucking proof.”  Noctis mumbles dejectedly. He exhales a long sigh and lets his head hang down until his chin brushes his collarbones.

They sit there for a few minutes, with Gladio’s hand absently rubbing wide, slow circles into Noct’s back, soothing him in a way that he knows that he just can’t with words.

It’s Noctis who breaks the silence, and it sounds like it costs him everything he has to ask, “What if it was my dad?”

Despite the somber atmosphere and the heavy, dark aura that seems to have been cast over their little caravan, Gladio can’t help but laugh a little. “Not a chance.” Regis was stern, sure, but he was fair and kind. He might raise his voice against an unruly Council, but Gladio can’t imagine him raising a hand to a child, directly or by proxy. Regis didn’t do this, and he’s pretty sure that whoever did wasn’t acting on the King’s orders.

Noctis just casts him a doubtful look out of the corner of his eye and shakes his head.

“Seriously, Noct. I’ve seen the way they’d talk, when your dad would pull Iggy aside after a meeting or at a gala. There was a lot of mutual respect and, I dunno if love is the right word, but well like you said, he’s like a brother to you, yeah? That kinda makes him like a son to your dad.”

The faintest of smiles curls Noct’s lips, and it breaks Gladio’s heart to think that the guy had actually been seriously considering the possibility that Regis of all people had hurt Ignis.

“Come on.” Gladio pushes himself to his feet and extends a hand down to Noctis. “Let’s go check on them and see about getting some actual answers. No more torturing yourself with a bunch of what-ifs, alright?”

Noctis allows himself to be pulled to his feet and he nods. “Yeah.” He claps a hand onto Gladio’s tattooed bicep. “Thanks.”

Gladio offers a weak smile. “No problem. Now c’mon. Time to be strong for the kid.”

“Yeah.” Noctis digs his knuckles into his eyes for a moment. “Maybe there’s something we can do.”

“I’ll tell you this much, if I find out who did it, and they’re still alive, they’re gonna wish they were dead.”

Noctis grunts in wordless agreement, then leads the way back inside. Gladio blinks at the change in light, going from the glare of the midday sun and back into the dim, cool interior of the caravan.

When his eyes adjust he easily spots Prompto and Ignis. They’re at the back of the caravan in what passes as the bedroom, which is just a queen-sized bed and a side table, with a curtain that can separate them from the rest of the caravan. Ignis is wrapped in a fluffy white towel, and Gladio recognizes the dark green towel draped over his shoulders as one of his own. It seems Prompto couldn’t find anything better to put Ignis in, which is unsurprising considering how small he is. Even Prompto’s things would fall right off of him.

“Hey,” Noct calls softly, lifting a hand in a weak attempt at a wave.

“Hey guys,” Prompto calls. Ignis waves shyly.

As Gladio makes his way with Noctis towards the world’s smallest bedroom, he watches as Prompto helps Ignis finish combing out his hair, smoothing the sandy brown locks along his scalp.“Y’know, I bet you’d look cool with your hair spiked up like a chocobo’s plume. I got some gel if you want to try!” Prompto grins. Ignis squeaks and tries to cover his head with his hands.

“No thank you, Mr. Prompto! I’m a boy, not a bird!”

Everyone laughs, and gods but it feels good to laugh. A fraction of the weight compressing Gladio’s chest seems to fade away. It’s just like Ignis, he thinks. Always lightening everyone else’s load, whether he means to do it or not. Maybe, before this little misadventure of theirs is over with, he’ll be able to return the favor and ease some of Iggy’s burdens.

It’s what they’ve always done. Since he and Iggy were teenagers they’ve both done their best to support the other and lighten their load. If one of them was working late (usually Ignis) the other would drop off dinner and stay to chat for a few minutes. If one of them needed advice or just a sympathetic ear when it all got to be too much, the other was there, no questions asked.

Up until five minutes ago, Gladio thought he’d done a fine job.

It’s a tight fit, but they make it work and all pile into the bedroom. Prompto retreats to the far end of the bed, making room for Noctis to perch beside Ignis. Gladio, not wanting to crowd the kid too much, settles his bulk onto the floor, sitting cross-legged in the entry beside the open curtain.

Noctis clears his throat. “Hey, so uh, you doing okay there, Ignis?”

Ignis adjusts the green towel, making an obvious effort to keep himself from dripping water on the bed. “Uh huh. The towel is okay for now. Thank you for washing my things for me.” The kid offers a gap-toothed smile.

“No problem, little dude.” Noctis takes a deep breath, his gaze cast up towards the dingy ceiling, as if praying to the gods for the wisdom and strength to get through this conversation. “If you need anything, just let us know, okay? The big guy’s gonna take care of lunch, and Prompto will switch your clothes to the dryer when they’re ready. We’ll head into town tomorrow and pick up a few things for you.”

“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Prompto and Mr. Gladio.” Ignis smiles again. “Please let me know if I can help. I can’t cook yet, but I’m really good at cleaning and I learn fast.”

Gladio winces. That’s the second time in as many minutes that Ignis has just hammered on his heart with how damn _good_ he is.

“Well,” Noctis says slowly, as if trying to squeeze his way through the tiniest opening imaginable. “I don’t know about chores yet, maybe once we have you dressed.” Gladio narrows his eyes, shooting Noct a _Don’t you fucking dare put this precious little bean to work_ look. Noctis ignores him as he tends to do, and continues. “But in the meantime, there was something we kinda wanted to talk about?”

Ignis lifts a hand, as if reaching to adjust the glasses he’s not currently wearing. Instead his hand falls to his lap and he tugs at the towel, his small fist twisting the cloth into swirls. “Yes Sir?” His cheeks flush hotly. “I mean, yes Mr. Noct Gar?”

Noct’s mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out. Gladio can see it in his eyes, the well of inner strength he’d been drawing on to even get this far is running dry. This is hard on all of them, but hardest on Noct. Gladio takes pity on his friend and liege and lets him pass the baton without needing to ask.

Gladio clears his throat to get everyone’s attention, specifically Ignis’s. “Yeah.” He schools his features into an easy smile. Ignis still looks concerned, so he preempts another panic attack by heaping as much reassurance onto the kid as he can. “Look, kid, first things first, okay? You’re not in trouble, and you’re not gonna be in any trouble. It’s an official rule; Ignis can’t be in trouble no matter what he says or does.”

“True fact!” Prompto chimes in.

“Yeah.” Noctis flashes a grateful look towards Gladio before turning back to smile at Ignis. “I’m the highest ranked member of the team and I second the motion, or whatever. It’s official.”

Ignis giggles and shyly ducks his head.

Gladio claps his hands softly together, careful not to make a big noise that might startle Ignis. “Okay, so, now that we’ve cleared that up, and we all promise not to be mad or anything, we need to ask you about what happened to your back.”

Like flipping a switch, Ignis’s laughter fades and he grows so still that he might not even be breathing anymore.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Gladio prompts gently. “It’s okay, you won’t be in trouble, remember?”

Head still down, light brown bangs sweeping across his eyes, Ignis speaks towards his lap. “I was bad.” His voice grows even quieter, so that Gladio has to lean forward to hear him properly. “I’m sorry. I try to be good, but sometimes I’m not.”

Gladio finds that mighty fuckin’ hard to believe. He can feel the beginnings of an unholy rage beginning to simmer in his chest and he has to smother the urge to shout about what utter bullshit that is.

It’s Prompto’s turn to slot himself into the conversation, giving Gladio a moment to get his temper under control. “It’s okay, little dude. We’re not judging you. Can you tell us more, though?”

Ignis bobs his head in a nod, and carefully shifts the green towel off of his shoulders, then pushes the white towel down towards his waist, exposing his back. Gladio can’t see too well from his angle, but he can see enough to feel a bit nauseous.

Ignis reaches back a bit awkwardly, pointing out the bruises that peek out from beneath the edge of the towel. Gladio recalls that they centered around his backside with a few scattered bruises across his back. “These are because I didn’t do well enough on my math test, and I handed in a history paper late. Tutor hits me if I answer wrong or I work too slow.”

“Even just one question wrong?” Prompto asks softly.

Ignis hums softly and nods. “One hit per question wrong or incomplete.”

“That… seems harsh.” Noctis murmurs.

Ignis clutches his towel hard, until his knuckles turn white. When he speaks his voice has the rehearsed air of someone who is obviously mimicking what they’ve been told too many times to count. “It’s important that I do my work perfectly. I am to be the foundation upon which the future king will stand and I must be strong.”

Gladio can’t help the wince that contorts his features. He thinks back once more to the Ignis of his childhood, always glued to a book, cramming more knowledge into his brain than an entire classroom’s worth of students. No wonder he always tried so hard.

Gladio closes his eyes, silently praying to all of the Astrals to give him strength. He snaps his eyes open again when Ignis continues talking, unaware that his every word is like a knife to the heart for the three men around him.

“This is because my room was messy when Nanny came to inspect,” he’s gesturing at some of the pale, puckered lines on his back, older wounds that have nearly healed. “And this,” he’s shifting around so that he can indicate the fresh welts, the ones still red and angry, the lines sharp enough that Gladio can see the shape of the leather strap or belt that inflicted them. “Is from when His Highness knocked a pitcher of juice onto an antique rug. Nanny was really mad about that.” Ignis winces at the memory of the wrath that must have been directed at him, a wrath he most certainly hadn’t deserved.

Gladio and Prompto both shift their gazes towards Noctis, who has gone deathly pale beside the blessedly oblivious child.

“Nanny hit you because the prince spilled his juice?” Noct’s hands are curled into fists in his lap.

Ignis nods, and continues to shyly stare at his lap. “Yeah. I’m learning to be his chamberlain--that’s a fancy word for helper--and it’s up to me to make sure he does what he needs to do so he can become a great king someday. His failures are my failures.” Ignis sounds rehearsed again, repeating back someone else’s bullshit rhetoric. Noctis’s failures are Ignis’s failures, and that’s how those pieces of human garbage justified themselves.

“Does that happen a lot?” Noctis asks, like some kind of goddamn masochist. Gladio glares at him, mentally sending him _shut the fuck up_ vibes.

“His Highness spilling his juice?” Ignis peeks up, bright green eyes barely visible through his damp bangs.

Noctis manages to smile despite himself. “No. You getting into trouble because of something he did.”

“Oh!” Ignis’s cheeks heat up with embarrassment at his mistake. “Not too often. Just sometimes.”

Noct begins absently pulling at a loose thread in the faded quilt that covers the bed. “That doesn’t sound very fair.”

Ignis’s shoulders twitch into a shrug. “Well, His Highness is a _prince_. It wouldn’t be proper to hit him.” The kid explains it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. The thread that Noctis is tugging on snaps.

“Oh Ignis.” Noctis breathes, and Ignis’s name is like a prayer and supplication on his lips. “You know that you’re as special and wonderful as any prince, right?”

That finally makes Ignis lift his head, and he fixes Noctis with a look of such open incredulity that for a moment Gladio could almost imagine it’s adult Ignis looking at them, unable to believe what utter imbeciles they all are. “No I’m not.” Ignis says it so matter of factly, without any hint of coyness or false modesty. “I’m a bit smart for my age, that’s all. I’m really not special otherwise. But thank you, Mr. Noct Gar.” Ignis smiles. “That’s very nice of you to say.”

With that, Gladio has had it; stick a fork in him because he’s fuckin’ done. For better or worse they’ve gotten their answers. Further discussion will serve no great purpose, other than digging that emotional knife into their hearts a little deeper. Unlike Noctis, who seems content to self-flagellate himself, Gladio is keen to actually do something useful.

“Hey Ignis?” He’s proud of how calm he sounds. It’s almost like he’s not planning to track down Ignis’s tutor and nanny when this is all over. They probably died in the fall of Insomnia, but why leave that shit to chance?

Ignis peeks down at him, still nervous despite their reassurances that he’s not going to be in any trouble with them. “Yes Sir Mr. Gladio?”

Gladio holds a hand out, palm up. “C’mere a second, buddy.”

Already the perfectly obedient little retainer, Ignis slides off of the bed and down to the floor where Gladio is still sitting, careful to keep the towels tucked around himself. As soon as the kid is within arm’s reach, Gladio scoops him up and deposits him firmly in his lap, sitting him on a powerful thigh.

Gladio can feel the change in Ignis’s body, the way he goes eerily still and heartbreakingly stiff against him. He tries not to take it personally, tries to remind himself that it’s a reflex, and that it doesn’t necessarily mean that Ignis is afraid of him personally. Still, his arms are exceptionally gentle as he draws Ignis back against his broad chest, cuddling him like he used to hold Iris when she would feel down.

“You don’t get enough snuggles, do ya, buddy?” Gladio murmurs gently into the top of Ignis’s head. The kid lets out a tremulous exhale and relaxes against the solid mass of Gladio’s chest, his little head finding a place to rest atop the Shield’s shoulder.

Prompto is the next to slide off of the bed, taking up a position to Gladio’s right, tentatively reaching out to run his fingers through the tawny hair he’d just helped Ignis comb and is now messing up fantastically.

“That’s about to change.” Prompto promises. “Right, Noct?” The blond looks up to where Noctis is still seated on the thin mattress, looking pale as a porcelain doll and equally as fragile. He extends a hand to his friend, gently encouraging him to join the impromptu cuddle pile. Noctis looks unsure, and Glaido can see the self-recrimination in his eyes, the doubt and uncertainty that makes him think he has no place in Ignis’s comfort, no right to touch him.

“Get your ass over here.” Gladio grumbles at Noct, before shifting his attention back to Ignis, rocking the small boy gently on his knee.

The prince’s exasperation and surrender manifest as a huff of breath as he eases himself off of the creaky old bed and takes his place on Gladio’s left. The Shield slings a comforting arm around Noct’s shoulders, drawing him into a group hug, with Ignis as the nucleus.

Gladio doesn’t know what, if anything, Ignis will remember about this time. He swears by all of the gods, he’s going to pour as much love, confidence, and care into the kid as he can, in the hopes that something will stick and be taken back with him.

  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you if you're still reading this! Yay you! *throws confetti*
> 
> I'm horribly sorry for the delay! It seems as if every time I set aside time to write, Life Happened and I couldn't get this chapter finished. Ugh!
> 
> Anyhoo, if you're so inclined, please accept this much lighter chapter. You've earned a break after last time.

Gladio can still remember a quiet evening in Noct’s apartment, perhaps a year before their lives had all gone tits up. It feels like a lifetime ago now after all that has happened to them since. 

Noctis and Prompto had been sprawled out on the sofa, sated and lazy after enjoying another one of Ignis’s gourmet meals. Gladio had been on his way to join them when he’d doubled back on a whim to talk to Ignis, who despite having cooked for all of them, had also taken it upon himself to clear the table, wash the dishes, and was at that time methodically wiping down all of the kitchen surfaces. 

He remembers how odd he’d found it that Ignis did so much domestic crap for Noctis. He’d wondered if Ignis was one of those weirdos who actually  _ liked  _ to cook and clean, because frankly it hadn't been his job to do any of that, and really it was kind of beneath him. Brilliant, talented, and dedicated to Lucis, Ignis had far better things to do with his time than clean saucepans and scrub counters. Finding some kind of perverse enjoyment out of it was the only logical explanation for why he did it.

So Gladio had asked him about it, and if a small part of him was hoping that Ignis would confess to an undying love of housework that would lead him to volunteer to clean Gladio’s apartment for him, well, who could blame him? He’d just casually let slip that his laundry was piling up and he hated mopping the floor, and Ignis would trip all over himself offering to help him out. Everybody wins.

But that’s not what happened.

Instead, Ignis had shaken his head and smiled that enigmatic little smile of his, the one that just barely curves the corners of his mouth up but sets his peridot eyes afire. He’d explained that no, he didn’t particularly enjoy the act of cooking and cleaning per se, but he certainly did relish the pleased looks on his friends’ faces when they ate something he’d prepared, and he was glad to clean up for them if only to save them from going to the trouble themselves. He’d said something altruistic and incomprehensible about how easing another’s burdens was good for the soul. 

Basically Ignis had gone peak Ignis and it had confused the shit out of Gladio, who didn’t have the heart then to try to coerce Ignis into cleaning up after him, too. 

Now, though, as he stands at the battered caravan sink, elbow-deep in soapy water, he gets it. He finally gets it and now this knowledge has lodged itself somewhere deep in his soul as a fundamental truth, as irrefutable as his own name or the colour of the sky. It feels better to give than to receive, and helping others really is its own reward. 

It shames him a bit that it’s taken him twenty-three years of life to work out something that Ignis has seemingly known since he could walk and talk. 

Ignis and Prompto are sitting at the kitchen booth behind him. Prompto’s teaching the kid how to play poker, and they’re using a massive bag of moogle gummies as currency. He could listen to their happy chatter interspersed with the shuffling of cards all day. He’ll gladly wash a thousand pots if it means his friends can indulge in idle pleasure for a few more minutes, their troubles cast aside, their burdens made easier as Ignis would put it. It doesn’t even occur to him that since he cooked lunch he’s in his right to ask Prompto to do the washing up, not when Prompto is creating a moment of pure and honest happiness with Ignis. 

It just feels good and somehow right. Sure, the water is so hot that his hands are turning pink, the dishes are greasy, there’s bits of gunk embedded in his nails, and his lower back is complaining at the way he has to stoop over the sink. But it feels nice, this lightness in his chest, the way his heart feels as if it’s going to grow wings and go fluttering away. 

All because Ignis liked what he made for lunch and ate every last crumb. 

All because Ignis and Prompto are free to relax and have a bit of fun because of his efforts. 

Stepping into Iggy’s shoes for a few days might be one of the best things to ever happen to him. Figuratively, anyway. Ignis is probably the only man in the history of existence who can pull off rhinestone-studded winklepickers as part of his everyday look.

Anyhow, epiphanies and self-growth aside, the chores are so mindless that it helps him think, and sweet Astrals but he has a great deal to think about. He refuses to accept the idea that he’s over fifteen years too late to save Ignis from being abused in the name of someone else’s twisted idea of duty. There must be something that they can do for their friend, and he’s determined to find it. 

The first step, he knows, is to make Ignis feel safe and comfortable with them, to earn his child self’s trust. He figures that if he can just look after Ignis half as well as Ignis has been looking after all of them, it’ll be mission accomplished in no time. So he’ll step into Ignis’s figurative shoes and do his best to follow the example that Iggy has always set. 

Their impromptu cuddle pile in the bedroom was a damn good start. There’s something about hugging another person, it’s as if your body can’t lie. You can’t fake the kind of warmth and care that they had poured into snuggling Ignis between them. There’s an honesty in a good hug that can pierce through a person’s defenses to get right to the heart of them. Gladio knows that Ignis had felt it, because his small and sadly marked body had relaxed into their touch as if he just knew that these three strange men really weren’t going to hurt him and he’d just let himself bask in the affection. 

They just need to ensure that Ignis continues to feel that way. 

Prompto seems to be on the same wavelength as Gladio. After taking care of the kid’s laundry, he’s appointed himself as Ignis’s personal entertainer, regaling him with silly stories (“Hey, wanna hear about the time Noct’s chocobo threw him in a swamp?”) and keeping him occupied with games (“I bet you’re super good at I Spy!”). For a guy who didn’t grow up looking after younger siblings, Prompto has a real way with kids. Probably because he’s just an overgrown kid himself, Gladio muses. 

Gladio dries his hands off on a kitchen towel before sauntering over to the other two. He swipes a handful of gummies out of Prompto’s pile and stuffs them in his mouth, much to the other’s indignation.

“Hey! No fair!” Prompto complains.

“Aww c’mon,” Gladio says around a mouthful of multi-coloured gelatin. “He’s a kid, you need a handicap.” He reaches for Prompto’s pile again, aiming for a cluster of red gummies, because everyone knows those are the best.

Prompto slaps Gladio’s big paw away, damn his quick reflexes. “Dude, Ignis is already winning!”

Ignis grins and pops a gummy from his significantly larger pile into his mouth, immediately creeping the two adults out by wedging it into the gap where one of his front teeth is missing and giving it a wiggle. 

Gladio snorts a laugh. “S’what you get for playing against an actual child prodigy then.”

Prompto makes a rude noise, which has Ignis looking momentarily scandalized before he dissolves into a giggling fit.

Gladio rolls his eyes, pats Prompto on the shoulder, and murmurs, “I’m gonna check on Noct,” which earns him a nod from the blonde before he turns his attention back to getting his ass served to him at poker by a six-year-old.

Gladio will always give credit where credit is due. Noctis isn’t exactly doing fantastically, but he’s bearing this entire horrific situation as well as could be hoped. Finding out that one of your best friends was secretly being abused behind your back is one thing, but finding out that he was abused in your place and in the name of your service is on a whole other level of awful. He knows what the first feels like, like someone’s stomped on his heart until it’s flat. He can’t even begin to imagine the pain of the second, a pain that among them only Noctis can feel. 

The shiny veneer of Noct’s composure had cracked and finally crumbled to dust an hour ago during lunch. He’d managed two bites of rice before excusing himself, mumbling something about not feeling good and needing to rest, an artless lie told purely for Ignis’s benefit, since there was no fooling Gladio or Prompto. 

Gladio now pads lightly down the length of the caravan towards the bedroom, the curtain drawn shut in a flimsy illusion of privacy. He strains his ears but he can’t hear anything. If Noctis is crying or cursing the names of the Six he’s being quiet about it. Gladio figures it’s probably safe to go in. 

“Knock-knock,” Gladio calls in the absence of an actual door to knock on. Not getting a response, he slides the curtain open, the sound of metal rings scraping against the curtain rod grating unpleasantly against his ears. 

Noct is there as expected, curled up on his side atop the neatly made bed. His eyes are squeezed shut against the light slotting in between the gaps in the blinds, painting the room in luminous stripes. His nose and lips are suspiciously flushed, but his cheeks are mercifully dry. They can pretend that Noct wasn’t crying his eyes out, if that’s what he wants to do. 

The bedsprings groan under Gladio’s weight as he sits but Noctis doesn’t stir. His eyes remain shuttered but his breathing is too deep and even to be natural.  He won’t call Noct out for pretending to be asleep, but he can’t let him spend all day wallowing in his own misery either. He’s probably spent the last hour going through his childhood memories with a fine-toothed comb, looking for all of the signs he missed, or remembering all of the mistakes he’d made that might have seen Ignis beaten in his place. 

“Hey,” Gladio says softly, a large hand coming to rest on his prince’s shoulder. He doesn’t know what else to say, and maybe he doesn’t need to say anything else. Between two men who have been as close as he and Noct have been all of their lives a simple ‘hey’ can hold a world of meaning.  In this case it means  _ I’m here for you, I care about you, but I’ll respect your space if you want me to leave. _

The fine bones and lean muscle beneath his hand tense briefly before relaxing. 

“Hey,” Noctis responds in a steady, gentle way that means  _ I’m okay now, thanks for worrying about me, but I’m not talking about it.  _

“You feeling up to going out?” Gladio asks, tactfully avoiding asking Noct how he’s actually feeling. 

Noctis makes an indistinct grunting sound that isn’t necessarily a refusal, so Gladio presses on. 

“I’m pretty sure if we stay cooped up in this caravan much longer Ignis is gonna go into diabetic shock.” He doesn’t mention that a change of scenery and a bit of fun will stop Noctis from drowning in a whirlpool of self-recrimination and angst too.

Noctis lets out a little huff of air that might be laughter, or at the very least amusement at the idea of Ignis of all people overdosing on sugar. “Diabetic shock? The hell?”

Gladio chuckles. “Prompto’s teaching him how to gamble and they’re using candy as chips.”

“Let me guess. Prom’s getting his ass handed to him?” Noct’s lips twitch into a hint of a smile.

“On a fuckin’ platter. You should see the kid’s pile of gummies.”

Noct pushes himself up onto his elbows, his smile slowly melting into a frown. “Gummies?”

“Uh yeah.”

“Moogle gummies? Big ol’ bag?” Blue eyes narrow dangerously. Gladio arches his thick brows and just nods in confirmation.

“”I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him.” Noct mutters. “Prom knows those are mine.”

Gladio just snorts. “Most of ‘em are Iggy’s now. Actually in the five minutes I’ve been in here, they’re probably all Iggy’s now. 

Noct scowls, but his irritation softens as a peal of childish laughter floats down the length of the caravan from the kitchen. 

“Alright then, what do you wanna do?” Noctis asks. “We can’t do anything dangerous with a baby Specs in tow.”

Gladio shrugs. He hasn’t really given it much thought beyond thinking that some fresh air and sunshine will be good for everyone’s mood. In retrospect, considering how early in the day they arrived at the caravan, it’s a good idea to get out for a bit now while there’s plenty of daylight hours left to burn. Otherwise they’ll all be stir crazy by nightfall, at which point it will be too dangerous to go out. 

* * *

They decide to head a short distance up the main road, back to where they’d seen the trader and the familiar red pickup truck. There’s not usually much of interest to their group amongst the wares, but you never know, today might be their lucky day. It’s something to start with at any rate, and they can ask the merchant if there’s anything worth doing or seeing in the area at the same time.

This time around it’s Gladio’s shoulders that little Ignis rides on. He squeals with unfiltered and unabashed delight when Gladio lifts him up considerably higher than Prompto had been able to. He can’t actually see Ignis, but he can see their shadow on the packed dirt road, and he watches with amusement as Ignis’s inky reflection stretches his arms wide to either side, head tilted back, basking in the sunshine and gentle breeze. 

“How’s the view up there, champ?” Gladio pats Ignis’s knee as they march along the side of the road, passing small vegetable patches behind rickety old fences and squat little houses with siding bleached nearly white by the sun. 

“Awesome!” Ignis enthuses, kicking his short little legs as if to highlight his excitement. Gladio makes a face when a tiny loafer nails him right in the sternum. “I can see practically forever This must be what it’s like to be a bird!” More kicks to Gladio’s chest punctuate Ignis’s words. Gladio doesn’t care; if anything he’s happy to see Ignis getting to be careless for once, when he’s usually the one being mindful and cautious. 

Prompto turns around from where he and Noct are leading the way. Walking backwards, he plasters on his best kicked puppy face, complete with big eyes and a pout. “Does this mean you don’t wanna ride the Prompto Express anymore?”

The horrified gasp that Ignis lets out startles Gladio so much that he almost drops the kid, thinking for a second that something is actually wrong. “No! I still like it very much too!”

Prompto clutches his chest dramatically. “You mean it?”

“Yes! I like it too, please can I ride it again later?” 

“That shrimp can’t lift you up nearly this high, though!” Gladio huffs in faux indignation.

“You’re taller,” Ignis concedes. “But he’s bouncier.”

Prompto flashes Gladio a smug look and then turns around to face forwards again. Gladio glares at the back of his blond Chocobo ass head. 

“Traitor.” Gladio grumbles, reaching up to tickle the back of Ignis’s knee. He gets a sharp jab in the chest with the heel of Ignis’s shoe, but the way the kid shrieks with laughter is absolutely worth it. 

They spend the next few minutes bickering about who gives the best piggyback rides. Ignis swears to the moon and back that they’re different but both equally good. Gladio knows the kid is just too tender-hearted to pick a favourite and hurt the other’s feelings. He’d ask adult Iggy for the honest truth once he’s back to normal, if there wasn’t a 100% chance of Ignis murdering all three of them on the spot if they ever mention him getting a piggyback ride from any of them. 

It would almost be worth it, though, just to wipe that smug grin off of Prompto’s face once and for all, because everyone knows that height is way more important than bounciness, whatever the fuck that even means. Stupid goddamn kids. He gives the back of Ignis’s other knee a tickle just for the heck of it. 

* * *

As expected, the peddler doesn’t have much of interest to them. There are tinned vegetables, but they have a decent supply of fresh produce leftover from a job they did for Takka last week. There are some bottles of cleaning solution and boxes of laundry soap that they don’t need. Gladio spies a stack of magazines tucked into a corner behind a case of Jettys and for a few glorious minutes he’s excited, until he realizes that not only are the damn things boring fishing magazines, but they’re ones Noct already has strewn all over the back of the Regalia so he can’t even use them to cheer the guy up.

It’s fun, though, to rummage through the display, especially with a very excited and inquisitive Ignis perched on his shoulders. He can feel the kid leaning forward to get a better look at everything, his little chin settling onto the top of Gladio’s head.  He’ll occasionally point at something that he doesn’t recognize and ask “What’s that, please?” It’s the  _ please _ and then the _ thank you _ that always follows that just about kill Gladio, transforming Ignis’s simple curiosity into something altogether more precious and endearing.  He’s so polite and well-mannered that even if he wasn’t one of Gladio’s oldest friends, he knows that he’d be utterly charmed by this kid.

In the end they do end up buying something. Prompto finds a packet of questionable-looking powder that is supposed to be an instant cake mix--just add water and an egg, according to the label. It’s the kind of processed fake food that Ignis would never let them eat in a million years. They buy it and also that case of Jettys.

The peddler also tells them about a decent fishing spot not too far away, there’s a pond just on the other side of a hill they can see to the northwest. It’s close enough to the settlement that it should be safe from wild animals. 

“Fresh fish and uh, not-so-fresh cake for supper?” Noctis asks with a lopsided smile. 

“Sounds good to me!” Prompto cheers. “The sun’s gonna be setting down that way, so I can get some nice shots in.” His fingers begin fiddling excitedly with the strap of his camera bag. “magic hour, baby!”

“What’s magic hour, please?” Ignis peeks down at Prompto.

Gladio catches Noct’s eye and groans dramatically as Prompto begins to cheerfully ramble at Ignis.

* * *

They decide that, in the interest of fairness and potentially ending the great piggyback debate, that Noct will carry Ignis over to the fishing spot.

“Is it okay?” Ignis asks, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice. “You were sick earlier.”

Noct chuckles from where he’s crouched down with his back to Ignis. He twists his neck to look back at the kid, who is anxiously knotting his fingers together. “It’s okay, I’m feeling good now.”

“Feeling  _ well _ ,” Ignis corrects.

Gladio snorts and Prompto outright cackles, earning themselves a glare from Noct. 

“It’s a common mistake, don’t worry.” Ignis reassures Noct, which just makes Gladio and Prompto laugh harder. 

“Yeah, thanks.” Noct smiles at Ignis and then scowls at the others. “Oh shut up you two.”

Ignis climbs gingerly onto Noct’s back, acting as if the fully-grown, combat-ready man is going to fall apart beneath him. Children can be remarkably sensitive, and it’s no surprise that Ignis would be, it’s probably a trait they were looking for when selecting Noct’s future chamberlain. Still, Ignis is taking it a bit far. Even if Noct were ill, which he’s not, giving a six-year-old a piggyback won’t kill him.

Ignis wraps his little arms around Noct’s neck and hooks his legs into the crooks of Noct’s arms. “You’re warm,” the kid says, his cheek pressing into the black t-shirt covering one of Noct’s shoulders.

“Yeah. Black absorbs heat or something.” Noctis explains, making his middle school science teachers proud. 

“It’s nice,” Ignis says simply as he snuggles into Noct’s back.

In the end Ignis politely declares that while Noctis makes for a very warm and cozy ride, “it’s a bit lopsided,” and therefore not quite as nice to ride as Gladio or Prompto. Noctis mutters something about having a bum knee and it not being his fault.

Gladio chuckles, hoping that an afternoon of fishing will soften the blow of being voted worst piggyback ride. 


	7. Chapter 7

The fishing hole is a pleasant patchwork of cool shade and warm light with sunshine filtering through an intermittent canopy of trees. Large stones with pillows of moss surround a fair-sized pond, its surface rippling and swirling beneath the caress of a light breeze. They’re protected from the noise of the outpost and the main road by a hill that acts as a natural barrier between their little sanctuary and the rest of the world. 

Noctis sits at the end of a rickety dock, legs swinging, crimson soles barely skimming the water’s surface. He has his tackle box to one side, an empty cooler to the other and a look of grim determination on his face. Prompto, with his freckles and fair skin, is nestled in the shade of a tree a few feet away, fiddling with his camera bag. 

Ordinarily Ignis would be settled just behind Noct’s left shoulder, helpfully reminding his charge to turn his rod towards the fish. His immaculately gloved hands would be ready and waiting to be in Noct’s service to exchange a lure or work at deboning a catch, whatever Noctis may need. He would probably while away the hours doing a mental review of their supplies, trying to work out how to prepare and season the fish Noct catches and what to serve it with. 

Today, however, the normally hyper-attentive chamberlain is in his own little world. Sunlight drenches his small frame as he lies sprawled atop a large flat stone, A morning’s worth of absorbed heat seeps into his front, while the afternoon sun beats soothingly down onto his back. It puts Gladio in mind of a spoiled house cat.

“Comfy there, champ?” Gladio asks as he settles down cross-legged onto a neighbouring rock.

Ignis props himself up on his elbows, chin nestled between cupped palms. The smile he offers to Gladio is a delicate shy little thing that will too easily vanish if Gladio’s not careful.  “Yes. It’s warm and nice.”

Gladio remembers Ignis snuggling into Noct’s back, languishing in the heat trapped in his black t-shirt. He’d never taken Ignis as someone who particularly enjoys the outdoors or the heat. Most of his memories of Ignis are of him tucked away in the Citadel or at Noct’s apartment, his fair skin hidden beneath several layers of perfectly tailored clothing, working until well into the night. He’s never known Ignis to eat lunch in the gardens or jog through the park, nothing of that sort.

This isn’t that Ignis, he has to remind himself. This is an Ignis who can’t have been at the Citadel for long. This is an Ignis who left his home and family less than a year ago, who hasn’t yet been molded and shaped by a lifetime of study and service. 

“Do you get to play outside much?” Gladio asks.

“I used to,” Ignis says softly. “Before I had to move to the city.”

Gladio nods. “They keep you pretty busy, huh?”

“Yes sir--I mean yes Mr. Gladio.” Ignis smiles bashfully. “I accompany His Highness, have different lessons, and, you know...” Ignis’s voice trails off, drowned out by the whisper of the wind through the trees. Gladio tilts his head to one side, waiting patiently for Ignis to finish his thought. He knows better than to push Ignis. “I study a lot so that Tutor doesn’t have to hit me as much. I’m not supposed to talk about that, though.” Ignis adds in an undertone.

Beside them on the dock the fishing rod goes slack in Noct’s hand, the soft whirring sound as he reels the lure through the water suddenly conspicuous for its absence. 

And there it is, the feeling of a lead weight lodged in his gut, the reminder that beneath Ignis’s freshly-laundered white button up is a miserable tableau of bruises and welts. He’s tempted, oh so fucking tempted, to seize the opportunity to point out to Ignis that his tutor shouldn’t hit him at all,  _ ever _ . He wants to wrestle a promise from the child that he’ll tell his uncle what’s happening to him, because Gladio knows there’s no way in this world that Alsius Scientia would stand for it, loyal steward to the crown or not. He wants to impress the wrongness of his treatment so firmly into Ignis’s mind that he’ll still know it down to his bones even if he does forget about his time in the future. 

He can’t, though. Not yet. It’s too soon. This Ignis has known them for less than a day. They haven’t earned the kind of trust yet that would grant them enough power, enough sway over Ignis.

Gladio chews on the inside of his cheek. He chooses his next words carefully, mindful not to give too much away, but desperate to forge this connection with Ignis. They have their differences, rather glaring ones, but in many ways they’re so similar that Ignis could be his brother. “It was the same for me,” he says softly. “Growing up when I wasn’t in lessons I was training.” He curls an arm, flexing his powerful bicep. “For hours every day. I still have to train every day in order to maintain it. I didn’t really have time for much else, let alone the energy. I was always sore and tired by the time I was dismissed for the day. My trainers were pretty tough, though not like yours.”

Ignis gingerly pulls himself up until he’s sitting cross-legged, his posture mirroring Gladio’s. Small hands brush at his clothes, smoothing out wrinkles and banishing flecks of dirt.  “Does it ever make you sad?” he asks, and Gladio can almost hear the unspoken  _ too _ .

Gladio’s features melt into something soft and gentle, and he shakes his head ever so slightly. “No. Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like, y’know, to hang out at the mall after school, eat greasy food every day, sleep in on the weekends. Regular people stuff.”

Ignis nods, eyes wide and so painfully earnest as he regards Gladio through his spectacles. It’s as if Gladio’s words are a revelation from the Six and he can’t believe that anyone else might actually understand what it’s like to be him. 

“But,” Gladio continues, painfully aware of Noctis sitting a few feet away, easily listening to every word. “I’m not sad and I don’t regret any of it. Because if I did that stuff, if I lived a regular person’s life, then I wouldn’t be as strong as I am today, I wouldn’t be able to do my duty and protect the people I care about.” He smiles and adds partially for Noct’s benefit “I missed out on some things, but I think I got somethin’ better in exchange.”

A soft  _ plop _ and  _ splash _ in the background tells him that Noct has resumed fishing.

Ignis bobs his head in a little nod of understanding. His sharp green eyes flit to the side, staring off into the middle distance. Gladio is uncertain what the kid is looking at, until he realizes that the answer is probably nothing, his gaze is turned inwards. “Mum and Dad said something like that before I left,” Ignis explains, his voice light as he floats in a sea of his memories. “I was sad to leave them and our village and our house. Really sad. But Dad said that it was like a trade, I was giving up what I had, but I’d get something better for it.”

“Your Dad sounds like a smart guy,” Gladio offers, a fond smile stretching his features. Ignis tends to not talk about his family much, either by choice or because no one dares to bring them up. The area north of Tenebrae where he is from fell to the Empire over a decade ago. Ignis’s village was razed as reward for their resistance. It’s easy to forget that Ignis has more than just an uncle and that he didn’t sprout fully formed and utterly perfect from the Astral plane.

Ignis hums agreeably. “Yeah. And he was right, I think. My new books are much nicer than my old ones, there’s a lot more to do at the Citadel.” Ignis pauses, a little crinkle etching into his nose. “I don’t know if I like His Highness better than my Mum and Dad, but I do like him quite a lot. He’s nice and fun, for a little kid anyway,, and I want to help him be a good king someday.”

“You will, kid. Don’t worry about that.”

Gladio lets the echo of Ignis and Ignis’s father’s words and their underlying wisdom roll around in his head. There’s no denying the truth there. Ignis traded a small town for a sprawling city, a humble home for the grandeur of the Citadel, and most of his family for a monarchy. The Scientias are not so unlike the Amicitias in this regard, despite the stark difference in their social ranking. They both sacrifice select members of their families for the sake of a higher purpose. In exchange for their Shields the noble house Amicitia receives wealth and prestige, while the common stewards of the Scientia family receive knowledge and opportunities otherwise beyond their means. 

It is a system that has worked for their families as well as certain others for generations, even centuries in some cases. The trade-offs are fair, and the relationship between the families are flush with loyalty and respect on all sides. 

Gladio finds himself thinking about Jared and his family, how members of the Hester family have stood by members of the the Amicitia family for generations. He thinks about little Talcott, and how it would never in a thousand lifetimes occur to any of them to mistreat that kid for the sake of grooming him to be a better steward. He thinks about Jared, dead at the hands of Imperial scum while Gladio was lost in an ice cave looking for a Royal Arm, too far away to protect him, but knowing full well that he would have defended Jared and his grandson with his life had he been given a chance. It’s what is owed to people who’ve dedicated themselves to you and it’s why he knows it as a fundamental truth that Regis would have never condoned anyone hitting Ignis as motivation to work harder and do better. 

He shakes his head sharply, aiming to scatter his melancholy thoughts. Talcott is safe at Cape Caem with Iris and the others, and he trusts them to take good care of the kid, as good as that wholesome little bean deserves. Meanwhile, the kid sitting in front of him needs him, whether Ignis understands that yet or not.

“Hey champ,” Gladio says gently, carefully trying to rein Ignis in from whatever is running through his keen little mind. “Wanna skip stones? Winner gets to lick the bowl later when we make that cake.”

“If you’ll teach me, yes please.” Ignis flashes a gap-toothed smile, happy enough to set aside their solemn talk to have a bit of fun. 

As it turns out, Ignis is terrible at skipping stones. Most of the time Ignis’s rocks hit the surface with a dull  _ plunk  _ and sink straight to the bottom of the pond. A few times Ignis manages a jump or two and they all make a grand production out of clapping and cheering for him. 

It’s a monumental effort for Gladio to throw the game sufficiently to let Ignis win. He even fakes a muscle cramp and a hand spasm to explain why he’s just flinging stones into the middle of the pond and watching them sink alongside Iggy’s. 

* * *

“Hey little dude, you have a little somethin’ riiiiiiiight there!” Prompto leans towards Ignis and neatly scoops a blob of cake batter off of his cheek before popping his finger into his own mouth.

Ignis’s answering laughter is like a tonic, cleansing and refreshing Gladio’s spirit.  

They’re all sitting around the cheap plastic table outside of the caravan. There’s a stack of dirty dishes in the center with the last few crumbs of the baked fish Gladio had prepared and the leafy salad that Prompto had thrown together to go with it.  Ignis is methodically scraping the mixing bowl clean, savouring the treat that he ‘won’ from Gladio. Three sets of fond eyes watch him, hardly believing that Ignis,  _ their Ignis _ , is actually licking raw batter out of a bowl. They all know that Ignis never lets anyone eat raw batter. Gladio can still feel the phantom pain of a wooden spoon smacking his fingers away from Iggy’s mixing bowl.

Prompto makes sure to capture the once-in-a-lifetime event from a variety of angles.

“Here,” Ignis’s voice is small, but his higher pitch easily dances above the ambient noise of the outpost. Gladio peeks over at him and sees Ignis holding the wooden spoon towards Noct, coated in delicious cake goo. “You made it, so it’s only fair.”

“Oh be still my heart.” Prompto says, clutching his chest dramatically, seemingly overwhelmed by the level of preciousness on display. 

Noct rolls his eyes at his best friend before turning to Ignis, his features instantly softening. “Y-you sure? You earned that fair and square.” Gladio snorts and hastily takes a swig from his bottle of Jettys. 

Ignis nods his head, looking very solemn and serious. It’s a look that Noct has probably seen before, though in a more refined form with age and experience. Knowing better than to argue with an Ignis of any age when his mind is set, Noct takes the offered spoon and licks a stripe through the cake batter.

Gladio doesn’t actually see what happens next. He averts his gaze so that he doesn’t have to watch Noctis practically making love to the spoon with his tongue. He’s not looking anywhere or at anything in particular when he hears a dull thud followed by a strangled moan. 

Snapping back to attention, Gladio watches in confusion as Ignis scrambles to push back his plastic chair. His confusion quickly evolves into shock and then horror as the six-year-old stumbles towards Noctis on shaking legs before dropping to his knees and cowering before him, there’s no other word for it. His shoulders are hunched, small body curling defensively inwards, His little hands fumble to grasp at something in the dirt in front of him, and it takes Gladio’s dazed mind a moment to recognize Noct’s phone. 

Ignis must have clipped it with his elbow or something when he’d moved away after giving Noct the spoon and knocked it off the table. From what Gladio can see by the glow of the caravan’s outdoor light the phone is fine, a bit smudged, but it’s not cracked or anything. Noct himself probably drops the thing on a weekly basis, possibly daily. 

“I’m so sorry Sir!” Ignis gasps out breathlessly. He holds the phone up above a head bowed in contrition. Even from across the table Gladio can see that Ignis’s hands are trembling. 

Gladio is fairly certain that none of them are even breathing at this point, stunned into temporary paralysis. It’s Noctis who seems to come out of it first, though his movements are slow and laborious, like he’s forgotten how to work his limbs. He takes the phone from Ignis’s supplicant grasp and sets it on the table without looking where he puts it, sad blue eyes remaining fixed on the miserable little boy in front of him.

Noct’s hand lands gently atop Ignis’s bowed head, long pale fingers sinking into the boy’s mop of silky hair. Ignis tenses and Gladio tries very hard not to imagine what’s going through Ignis’s mind. When Noctis simply cards his fingers through Ignis’s hair, finger combing it and smoothing it against his head, the boy seems to relax somewhat.

“It’s okay,” Noctis murmurs, having found his voice at last, though it comes out thick and strained. “It’s okay. You’re okay, I promise.”

“I’m sorry,” Ignis whispers his apology, for the accident or for his misplaced fear, Gladio’s not sure. 

“Hush, I know. It’s really okay though.” Noctis smiles down at Ignis, who still hasn’t raised his head. “Here, c’mere.” Noct withdraws his fingers from Ignis’s hair and instead reaches down, scooping him up to settle him on his lap. He keeps his arms around the child, though Gladio notes with approval that his hold is loose so that Ignis doesn’t feel confined. 

Prompto reaches over, picking up the phone from where Noct had abandoned it on the table. He dusts it off with a corner of his shirt before chiming in. “No harm done, buddy.”

“Wouldn’t care if it was smashed to bits.” Noct murmurs, tucking Ignis’s head beneath his chin protectively. Ignis lets out a shuddering breath and settles himself more firmly against Noct’s chest, soaking up the offered comfort and reassurance like a sponge.

As truly awful as it is to see Ignis on his knees trembling and afraid, in a way Gladio is almost glad that it happened. It’s as if in that moment all of the good things they had promised Ignis earlier in the day had been put to the test, and while it was a given that they would pass with flying colours, you know, on account of them not being goddamn assholes, Ignis didn’t know that until now, when instead of a harsh reprisal for his clumsiness he was met with understanding and compassion. 

Noct’s hands skate gently over Ignis’s back and down his arms, doing his best to soothe the boy. Ignis is still trembling, and after a few minutes of continued shivering Noct asks, “Ignis? Are you cold?”

Ignis shakes his head in denial, but Gladio can see the goosebumps dotting his arms. Noct notices too and he rubs Ignis’s bare arms a bit more briskly. 

After a few moments of this Ignis murmurs.  “Mr. Noct Gar?”

“Yeah buddy?”

Bashful colour brightens the apples of Ignis’s cheeks. “Maybe I am a bit cold after all. Can we go inside please?”

Warm pride curls in Gladio’s chest.  

They file into the caravan, Gladio and Prompto carrying in their dirty dishes while Noctis stubbornly carries Ignis. For his part Ignis seems perfectly content to linger in Noct’s arms, relishing in the comfort he finds there after expecting cruelty.

Noctis sets Ignis into the booth. “Do you want me to get you a blanket or anything?” the prince for once in a position to be solicitous to his chamberlain.

Ignis shakes his head, tawny fringe swooshing back and forth with the motion. “No thank you. It’s better inside.”

Prompto slides into the booth opposite them, wearing a smile that Gladio knows is only a little bit forced. “Wanna play a game while we wait for cake? I’ll bet you’re awesome at hangman!”

Prompto calls up an app on his phone that has a dozen different word games on it. All free with no annoying ads. (“Flash sale, baby!”)

As it turns out, Ignis is excellent at hangman. The AI only stumps him when it rudely chooses ‘jazz music’ as its mystery word. 

When the cake is done baking Gladio takes it out of the oven. It passes the toothpick test and he sets it to one side to cool. Noct is already halfway out of his seat at this point, and Gladio rolls his eyes, making a shooing motion at him with an oven mitt.

“Let it cool for a few minutes, you bunch of savages.”

He manages to keep his companions with their sweet tooths and grabby hands at bay for about five minutes. Then the cake, still in the baking tin, is set in the middle of the table. Prompto hands everyone a fork and chirps “Dig in!”

“Careful, it’s hot,” Gladio warns, his words directed at Ignis. He doesn’t give a shit if the other two chucklefucks burn themselves.

“Okay,” Ignis replies before carefully poking his fork in to retrieve a chunk of cake. 

Despite the sugar high that he must be on (the kid’s veins must be pumping pure glucose), it doesn’t take long for Ignis’s eyelids to start drooping. Gladio catches him trying to smother his third yawn before finally putting his foot down.

“Alright. It’s been a long day. I think it’s time for some of us to go to bed.” Gladio nods at Ignis.

Ignis smiles a bit sheepishly, as if it’s not to be expected after the wild day he’s had.

“Ooh!” Prompto claps his hands eagerly as he slides out of the booth. “ Did you pick your bed?”

They all get up, because clearly putting one perfectly behaved six-year-old to bed is a job that requires three grown men. 

“Umm. Maybe,” Ignis peeks up at Prompto. “ If it’s really okay?”

Prompto flashes a thumbs up. “Totally.”

“Well…” Ignis knots his fingers together, looking shyly down at his shoes. “If you’re really sure no one minds, because if they do it’s okay, I can sleep anywhere…”

Gladio spares them all the hassle of trying to wrestle a selfish request out of Ignis. “You want the top bunk, dontcha champ?” Because of course he does. Even if Gladio hadn’t caught him eyeballing it earlier, what kid wouldn’t?

A shy giggle and nod of the head serve as swift confirmation.

They don’t have anything for Ignis to change into yet, so they settle for letting him shed a few layers. They put him to bed in his undershirt and underoos (with a cartoon tonberry on them). 

Prompto supervises the brushing of teeth and washing of faces. Noctis pours Ignis a glass of water and is waiting with it beside Iggy’s bunk. Gladio, meanwhile, rummages around in his bag, looking for something to read to the kid.

“Uhh you ever read a philosophy book before?” he asks as he hefts his copy of  _ The Silence of Knowledge _ . “Cuz it’s this or those lame fishing mags of Noct’s”

“Hey!” comes the royal protest. 

Ignis laughs as he climbs up into his bunk. “I haven’t started philosophy yet, but I’d like to.” Ignis’s sleepy smile pierces Gladio like a crossbow bolt. 

Once Ignis has assured his three well-meaning but overbearing protectors that he has enough blankets and pillows and that one drink of water is fine thank you, the kid finally lies down. Gladio hunches himself awkwardly on the edge of the bed and begins to read.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. And so ends the bros first day with smol!Iggy. After this I'm going to pick up the pace. We're getting close chapter-wise to Awkwardsville where everyone has to deal with the fallout.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy. If ever there was a chapter of a fic that did not want to come together, it's this one. I'm this close to setting my google drive on fire. ;A;
> 
> Thank you for your patience and your kindness as I bumble my way through this story. We're nearly there. <3

They arrive in Lestallum shortly before noon. With the Regalia’s top down Gladio’s senses are nearly overwhelmed long before they’ve even pulled into an empty parking spot along the main road. Lestallum presents a dazzling symphony of sensation. Every window in the city is thrown wide to tempt in a non-existent cooling breeze, the sounds of voices and tinny music coming from ancient radios spilling from them, mingling with the sounds of people and traffic in the streets below. Exotic aromas waft from various food carts, their fragrances mixing and mingling, spicy and sweet, tickling the nose. Even the eyes are treated to a feast of stimulation, stucco buildings in every shade imaginable so that the architecture matches the vibrant and diverse spirit of Lestallum’s citizens.

Gladio fucking loves this town. It’s a reminder that despite all that they have lost, there are still people and places in this world teeming with life and happiness. There are still people and bright futures to safeguard.

The Cup Noodle cart is pretty nice, too.

In the driver’s seat Noctis turns to his copilot, a faint smile tugging the corners of his lips upwards. “Put the top up.”

“Yessir!” Ignis chirps. The kid leans forward against the seatbelt strap that still cradles his chest. It’s a bit of a stretch for his short arms, but he finds and flips the correct switch, and with a mechanical hum that roof of the Regalia unfurls and locks in place.

Ignis is an excellent and very enthusiastic copilot. Eager to please and attentive, he knows how to navigate the car’s media player, put the top up or down, adjust the mirrors, regulate the car’s temperature, and is happy to fetch this and that from the glove box. He also graciously lets them keep a bag full of snacks and beverages at his feet, obligingly handing out sodas or bags of candy to his companions. He doesn't take anything for himself without some prompting, but he’s still a work in progress.

“Excellent work, copilot Scientia” Noctis praises him. Ignis beams, Prompto makes an ‘aww’ sound, and Gladio’s heart unleashes a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

It was a slower process for Noct than it was for Gladio and Prompto, but the prince seems to have finally found a comfortable rhythm with Ignis after his initial hesitancy. Not that Gladio blames Noct. It’s an awkward situation, and Noct isn’t exactly famous for his ability to gracefully navigate awkward situations. Ignis is endearing with his missing teeth and tiny loafers, though, and Noctis has proven as weak as the rest of them to withstand the kid’s charms.

Seatbelts click and car doors slam as they all exit the vehicle. Everyone stretches and groans dramatically, glad to feel the pavement underfoot once more after a long morning of driving and occasionally dodging MT dropships. Even Ignis, who is likely used to reining himself in, can’t help bouncing his weight from foot to foot, happy to stretch and work out some of his pent up energy.

“What’s our first order of business?” Prompto asks. “Shopping? The Leville?”

Noctis inhales deeply of the humid air perfumed with exotic spices. “Or lunch.”

“Ignis has been patient long enough,” Gladio rolls his eyes. “Let’s hit the market first.” The poor kid is still wearing the same stuffy clothes that he blinked into existence with yesterday. They’re wrinkled with use and, frankly, not really the best suited for their travels. The fabric is stiff and heavy, and the cuffs and collar look uncomfortably tight. The kid will be stewing in his own sweat before long.

In agreement, they group up and begin walking, aiming for the familiar labyrinthine network of alleyways and side streets that will lead them to the market and some of their favourite food stalls. Once upon a time they had found the city’s haphazard layout confusing, frustrating even. Now these streets are as familiar to them as their old neighbourhoods back in Insomnia. They could retrace the path to the market or to the Leville with their eyes closed at this point.

They’ve not even walked a block when Gladio feels a firm weight tugging on his jacket. Glancing down, he sees Ignis with his small hand crushing the dark leather in his small fist. His wide green eyes aren’t looking up to meet Gladio’s own questing gaze, though. Instead the kid seems to be fascinated by his own two feet, staring at his shoes as he trots along between Gladio and Noctis.

 _That’s odd,_ Gladio muses.  Bright and inquisitive, he expected Ignis to gawk at his surroundings in pure wonderment, asking a million and one questions about everyone and everything they pass. Instead he looks shy and anxious, like a chocobo chick that accidentally wandered into a den of sabertusks.

“Hey hold up,” Gladio entreats the others, his own feet slowing to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Ignis maintains his death grip on his jacket. The tide of people behind them is forced to part, shifting to either side to avoid them, casting their group dirty looks which they ignore.

“Wassup?” Prompto asks as Noct shifts his gaze between Gladio and Ignis, frown lines etching themselves between his brows.

Gladio eases down to crouch beside Ignis, who finally looks up at him, wide-eyed and pale. “Hey champ. You doin’ okay?” he asks gently, his words almost swallowed up by the ambient noise around them.

“Please don’t lose me!” Ignis squeaks out.

Noct takes a shuffling step closer and for a moment he hesitates, his hand hanging in the air an inch above Ignis’s shoulder before finally settling the comforting touch on the boy. Gladio wonders if Noct is aware of the ironic role reversal at play here as he mimics a gesture Ignis often bestows on the prince. It’s the most familiar gesture he’s ever known Ignis to bestow on anyone, and is probably the equivalent of a bear hug to anyone else.

“We won’t lose you, Ignis.” Noctis promises him.

“Buddy system, remember?” Gladio offers him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “I’m always lookin’ out for ya.”

“This town is just so big!” Ignis explains in a breathless rush of words. “Big and noisy and I don’t know where to go if I get lost, and why are none of these roads _straight_?”

“It’s not as big as Insomnia!” Prompto chimes in, trying and failing to be helpful. Gladio has to tamp down on the urge to facepalm at him. Prompto doesn’t get it, but Gladio does, and Noct likely does as well. They grew up in the heart of a bustling, sprawling metropolis, sure, but they were sheltered from the hustle and bustle by the walls of the Citadel. When they did have to venture out into the city it was always with an appropriate escort who herded them hither and thither like cattle, with no chance of getting lost--or escaping (and Six know Gladio had tried). Ignis isn’t used to the crowds and the organized chaos of the city.

“It’s okay.” Gladio interjects. He reaches out to brush Ignis’s fringe out of his eyes. “Sometimes I worry about getting lost here, too,” he lies, smooth as Shiva’s perky ass. “I know I’d feel a whole lot better if my buddy held my hand?” He holds one of his large hands out to the boy, who after several seconds of contemplation wraps his hand around three of Gladio’s fingers.

Hand-in-hand they continue working their way towards the market. Gladio hunches over slightly so that Ignis doesn’t have to stretch to reach his hand. His back won’t thank him later, but that is a problem for future Gladio; right now he doesn’t care about anything other than keeping Ignis safe and happy, and the warmth of his small fingers curled around his.

After a few familiar twists and turns they join the flood of people swarming the marketplace. Ordinarily this is Ignis’s domain, the Chamberlain taking the lead to guide the rest of them through the stalls, stopping where they can purchase useful provisions, and pointedly avoiding the kiosks where they’re apt to waste all of their gil on flashy but useless frivolities. Not for the first time Gladio finds himself appreciating the hell out of all of the little things that Ignis does to keep their upended lives on track, the man’s efforts made suddenly conspicuous for their absence now.  It takes all three of them to make up for his loss, and they’re probably doing a piss poor job.

Gladio’s massive chest deflates with a sigh. Gods but he misses Ignis. He wonders if Ignis--adult Ignis that is--even realizes how much he means to Gladio and how much he would truly be missed if he were gone. When all of this is over he’s going to have to sit Ignis down, preferably over some expensive liquor, and tell him all of the wonderful things he’s only now starting to realize about the guy.

“So, uh, where…?” Prompto trails off helplessly, pale blue eyes squinting against the glare of the midday sun as he tries to scope out the vendors.

Sometimes it’s great being a head taller than most people. It sucks when trying to fit into a tiny bunk or buy clothes off the rack, but Gladio sure as hell can spot a clothing merchant across a crowded marketplace.

“This way,” Gladio says, cocking his head towards the western edge of the market where he’d spied a merchant with racks of clothing, some of which looked like they might be children’s size. The crowds part before Gladio’s bulk as he leads his companions towards the clothing stall. He and Ignis instinctively tighten their grip on each other as people press in around them on all sides. Gladio’s not above throwing elbows to keep the crowds from jostling little Ignis.

At the clothing stall they seem to devolve into a horde of goddamn barbarians, their hands pawing into neat piles of carefully folded garments and tidy clothes racks. The shopkeeper glowers but doesn’t say anything--yet. When Prompto spies a pair of chocobo print shorts he nearly takes out an entire rack with a misplaced elbow as he grabs wildly at the violently yellow garment, earning himself an exasperated sigh from the poor merchant plus a roll of the eyes from Gladio.

“Kid, not everyone likes chocobos as much as you do.” Gladio reaches over, snatching the shorts from Prompto’s hands and unfurling them to get a better look. “Besides, these are at least three sizes too big for Ignis.”

“Maybe they’re not for Ignis.” Noctis smirks, jabbing an elbow into Prompto’s ribs.

“Ow! Hey!” Prompto pouts, shoving Noct away with his free hand before rubbing at his ribs. “Okay, maybe they’re a teensy bit too big. But they’re definitely too small for me!” Prompto glares and moves to put the shorts back, looking only a little bit disappointed.

“Could always cut them up and make a bandana or something.” Noctis supplies helpfully.

The tacky shorts make their way into their shopping basket with a flourish.

Ignis smothers a giggle behind his hand as he listens to the others bicker and banter over the clothes, everyone having an opinion on what Ignis will look the cutest in, and everyone convinced that the others have no fucking clue how to pick stuff out in the correct size.

“Okay but what about this one with the tonberries? Ignis definitely likes tonberries.”

“That’s for a toddler, it’d never fit.”

“But it says size 6! That means it’s for six-year-olds right?”

“No, dumbass.”

“Um, excuse me please?” a small voice struggles valiantly to be heard.

“These pants might be okay if we, like, roll up the cuffs?”

“Ugh dude, no, red is not his colour.”

“Umm Mr. Noct Gar? Mr. Prompto?”

“Oh! This should fit, I think.”

“Dude, that’s for a girl.”

“Says who?”

“Says the person that sewed the lace and ribbon on the bottom?”

“Yeah well you don’t get to dictate Iggy’s gender identity, okay?”

“Excuse me!” Ignis exclaims with enough force to finally be heard over the three grown idiots he’s been saddled with. For good measure he also tugs sharply on Gladio’s fingers, forcing the Shield’s attention down to him.

And there Ignis stands with an expression hauntingly like his older self, from the impatient angling of his brows to the hint of bemusement curling just the corners of his lips. In the hand not tethering him to Gladio is a small bundle of clothing; Gladio sees a pair of pants, sleep shorts, and soft cotton shirts with both long and short sleeves. Ignis even has a few pairs of socks and a package of underoos sitting atop his little pile.

“These please and thank you,” he says simply, bringing their bickering to a sudden end. Somewhere out in the wide world a mic is dropped.

Prompto scoops the bundle out of Ignis’s hands, a sheepish grin stretching his freckled cheeks as he hands everything to the merchant for her to tally up. “Uh, we’ll take these I guess?”

“And we’ll tidy up the mess we made,” Ignis adds, as if trying to prove to the universe that he is absolutely, positively, Ignis fucking Scientia in miniature form.

They meekly fork over a handful of gil and wordlessly set about straightening up the stall, which looks like a clothing tornado blew through it.

 _Fuck, he’s perfect. How is he this perfect?_ Gladio wonders wryly as he helps smooth and fold pants.

* * *

The only other stall they visit is a new and used book seller, tucked into a shady corner of the market not far from a the little open air cafe where they are currently settled in for lunch. Two bags are nestled safely in the shade beneath their table, one holding Ignis’s new clothes, and the other one crammed with books--Gladio couldn’t help himself, and besides, small Ignis loves books, and his finds from today should prove more interesting to the kid than _The Silence of Knowledge_. Everybody wins.

“I dunno how you guys can eat that stuff in this heat,” Noct says, eyeing the bowl of extra spicy curry that Prompto is working his way through, and the bowls of chili that Gladio and Ignis had ordered. Noctis, perpetual culinary toddler that he is, has a platter of battered chickatrice strips and fries in front of him.

Prompto shrugs his narrow shoulders and crams another forkful of spicy meat and rice into his mouth.

“And I don’t know how you can sleep at night knowing you ordered off the kiddie menu while the actual kid here got real food.” Gladio interjects.

“This is real food,” Noctis glares, dunking a chickatrice strip into his dipping sauce a bit more forcefully than necessary.

“What do you think, Ignis?” Prompto asks as he sops up his excess sauce with a bit of bread.

Ignis had been sitting quietly, sucking on his spoon like it’s a chili-flavoured lollipop, presumably savouring the lingering taste of his lunch. When Prompto addresses him he withdraws the spoon with a little pop and sets it in his empty bowl.

“I think my lunch was delicious,” the kid enthuses, a dreamy look overtaking his slightly chubby features. “But everyone else’s lunch looked really nice, too.”

“Such a diplomat.” Gladio chuckles fondly.

Rosy colour ripens the apples of Ignis’s cheeks, having very little to do with the heat of the day or the spices in their food. “It’s true, though. Honestly, all of the food has been so good since I met you guys!”

Gladio can’t help it, his chest swells with pride, having been responsible for most of the cooking now that Ignis is no longer tall enough to reach the stove. Still, his food is slop compared to what Ignis is capable of, and not much better than slop next to what they were used to at the Citadel. Giving voice to his thoughts without really thinking about it, fuelled by an admittedly rare bout of modesty he says, “Thanks kid. I know it’s not as nice as what the Citadel chefs make, but we do our best.”

Ignis’s shoulders twitch into a small shrug. “Sometimes maybe, sometimes not.” He reaches out, taking his glass of ice water in both hands and taking a long swallow.

Prompto and Noctis both perk up at this. They’ve both been on the receiving end of Ignis’s many lectures about the merits of a nutritionally balanced diet, both been handed plates of foods they don’t like and both met with an impassive stare when they’ve complained that they don’t like this or that.  Even Gladio has been cut by Iggy’s sassy tongue in the past when he’s dared to ask for Cup Noodles for dinner.

The prospect of finding out that little Iggy was as picky as the rest of them is too enticing to let this chance slip through their greedy fingers.

“Sometimes not, huh?” Prompto sets down his fork with a grin.

“They don’t make you eat plates full of carrots, do they?” Noctis asks, brows arched above eyes that flash with mischief. “Ugh, or beans?”

“Beeeaaans!” Prompto snickers.

Ignis sets his cup down with care, its sides slick with condensation. His tawny little head bows briefly before he answers. “I get carrots and beans sometimes, but that’s okay. I like them. You should like them too, Mr. Noct Gar. They’re good for you.”

“Ugh.” Noctis slumps down into his chair.

“There must be something you don’t like,” Prompto encourages, not yet deterred.

Ignis frowns and shakes his head. “I like everything. Sometimes the sauces are a little strong,” his small features scrunch up. “But it’s still okay. It’s just…” he trails off, jade gaze sinking to his lap, an air of uncertainty hanging over the child.

Gladio can feel his lunch turning into a block of ice in his gut. He doesn’t know where Ignis is going with this, but he’s pretty sure he won’t like it.

Noct straightens from his slouch. Gladio can see the conflict in his prince’s eyes, the fear of what Ignis might say being weighed against an urgent need to know, to pick at the emotional wound a bit more. “Just what?” Noct asks softly, his inner masochist winning out.

Ignis shrugs again and takes a moment to carefully adjust the glasses that are already perfectly positioned on his nose. Finally he sighs and looks up, green eyes shy behind a veil of pale lashes. “Sometimes the food is really good, like what you would get at a fancy restaurant.” Another shrug. “But other times it’s just, you know,” Ignis pauses and gestures airily. “Potato.”

Prompto’s face crumples up with confusion. “You don’t like potatoes?”

“N-no, I do!” Ignis reassures him, flapping his hands anxiously in a very un-Ignislike display of nerves. “I just meant, you know, when I’m dining with His Highness we get the really good restaurant food.” The lump of ice in Gladio’s stomach expands with sudden dread. “But when it’s just me it’s usually just a potato.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Noctis groans, burying his face in his hands. Gladio should chide him for his language or give him a swift kick under the table, but he’s honestly too busy beating his own anger into submission. A fucking potato? Really? No wonder Ignis took up cooking, it was probably the only way to ensure he got three square meals a day, Gladio thinks savagely. Okay, that’s probably not true, but the thought adds welcome fuel to the fire of his righteous fury.

Ignis glances between the three men who are all slumped miserably over their place settings. Guilt and anger sit heavy in the air around them, curling fingers into fists and shoving normally proud shoulders down into a slouch.

“I’m sorry,” Ignis murmurs quietly. “I shouldn’t have said that. Now everyone’s unhappy.”

“Don’t apologize. Please.” Noctis says in a small voice.

“No,” Ignis insists. “I, see, I’m not royalty or noble or anything, so it makes sense. The fancy food is for the fancy people, right? I shouldn’t complain, there are poor people who don’t even get a potato for supper.”

Gladio lets out a long breath. There’s a small part of his brain that is still sane enough to recognize this as the opportunity that it is. Ignis is opening up to them again, and they again have a chance to make a mark on his impressionable mind. Maybe, just maybe, Gladio can get through to him now. He has to try, at least. “C’mere champ,” Gladio says, a hand held out to the boy, palm up, a plea instead of a command.

Chair legs scrape across the pavement as Ignis obediently pushes his chair back and scrambles down. As soon as the kid is in range Gladio is reaching down, scooping him up and depositing him on his own lap, strong arms wrapping gently but protectively around him. Ignis lets out a startled gasp but melts readily into Gladio’s hold, no longer skittish or shy. Emboldened by the way Ignis snuggles so easily into him, Gladio ducks his head down to press a kiss into the top of his head.

 _Iggy is gonna murder me in my sleep for this, but I don’t give a shit._ He nuzzles the top of the tawny head once more.

“You’re going to help and advise the future king someday, yeah?” Gladio asks, his brain struggling to feed his mouth the right words that will get through to Ignis and penetrate the layers of fear and conditioning that his training has already instilled in him.

“Yes Sir.”

Gladio slides a palm gently up and down Ignis’s back, careful not to press too hard at the raw marks hidden beneath a layer of crisp white cotton. “Do you think that to be a good advisor to him someday, you need to work hard and grow up to be strong and smart?”

“Yes Sir,” Ignis repeats more quietly, soberly.

“I know you’re already doing your best. You’re studying hard and going to all of your lessons, yeah?” Gladio smiles down at Ignis. Memories of Ignis and the countless tasks both great and small he’s undertaken on their behalf fill his head and heart, coaxing a genuine smile to his face in spite of everything. All of the tutoring he provided to not only Noctis but Gladio as well, the cooking, cleaning, mending, advice about anything and everything. Ignis has always tried so hard and done so much for them, well beyond the scope of his duties. Greatness doesn’t even come close to describing the quality of Ignis’s character. Saintly is more like it.  

“Yeah…” Ignis whispers.

“It’s up to the grown ups around you to do their part, too. And that means making sure you get enough rest and that you eat properly. Growing bodies need proper nutrition. Trust me, I’d know.” He ruffles Ignis’s hair fondly, as if it were little Talcott on his knee and not Ignis ‘I know 27 ways to kill a man with a fountain pen’ Scientia.

Ignis doesn’t say anything, but his head bobs in the tiniest of nods.

“If we ever don’t give you enough to eat, you gotta say something, okay? Or honestly, if you ever need anything from us, just say so. We wanna take good care of you, okay?”

Ignis’s small frame twists in his lap, and Gladio finds a pair of little arms scrambling to capture as much of his bulk as possible in a hug. “Thank you. You’re so nice to me. You all are.”

“Aww geeze.” Gladio hugs Ignis back, careful not to squeeze too hard. “Thanks kid. We’re just doing what’s right though, y’know? It’s what anybody should do,” he says pointedly.

Across the table Prompto and Noctis seem to have caught on. It’s Prompto who finds his voice first. “Yeah. If, if the Citadel people aren’t feeding you enough or aren’t taking good care of you, that’s not right. Not just because you’re a good kid who deserves good things, which you totally are and you do.” Prompto starts doing that fidgety thing he sometimes does with his wristbands when he’s nervous. “So maybe you should tell someone you trust when the staff aren’t doing their jobs properly.”

“Yeah,” Noctis nods. “You’re…” he pauses to lick his lips, visibly uncomfortable but trying so hard. “You’re going to be an important person, Ignis. Really important. I know my D-.. the King and your uncle and everyone would make everything better for you. They wouldn’t want… what’s been happening.” Noctis trails off weakly, not able to bring himself to dredge up the specifics of Ignis’s abuse.

Ignis is quiet for a few long moments, simply clinging to Gladio and allowing himself to be held. Gladio tucks Ignis’s little head under his chin and does his best to make the kid feel safe.

Eventually Ignis sighs, body growing lax against Gladio as he says. “It’s hard to concentrate sometimes, when I’m hungry or when it hurts.” He lowers his voice so that Noctis and Prompto have to lean in close to hear him. “It doesn’t make sense. I really like His Highness and I would want to work hard for him even if everyone was easy on me. They don’t have to be mean. All it does it make it harder.”

Gladio can’t help it, he squeezes Ignis a little harder. “I know, buddy. I know. Think you can talk to someone? Maybe your uncle or maybe the King or his Shield?”

Ignis buries his face in Gladio’s neck and mumbles something indistinct. Gladio doesn’t want to push the kid too hard, so he subtly shakes his head at Noctis and Prompto, beseeching them to leave it at that, let the idea simmer in Ignis’s brain for a bit.

“You okay, buddy?” Gladio asks softly.

“Yes Sir. Thank you.” Ignis tips his head back and smiles up at Gladio.

Gladio smiles back and hopes like hell that this is the last time that Ignis inadvertently kicks him in the feelings.

* * *

For once the Astrals deign to smile upon Gladio and the shitshow that passes for his life. Ignis does not spring any more Citadel horror stories on them. He still yanks on Gladio’s heartstrings, but only in the best ways, continually amazing him with his innate sweetness. He doesn’t know what gets to him more, the fact that such a good kid would be treated so poorly, or that he was treated this poorly but still grew into the kind, selfless, and dedicated man that he knows and now practically reveres.

They decide to wait out their days with their miniature Ignis in Lestallum. It’s tempting to make the trip down to Cape Caem, oh so tempting; little Ignis would be endlessly fussed over by Monica and Iris, and little Talcott would have a friend near his own age and by the Six, both kids deserve that. However, in the end they worry about exposing Ignis’s secrets to more people, and thus they decide to stay put.

They keep themselves as busy as they can, without venturing outside of the city gates. They track down Holly, who pinches Iggy’s cheeks ‘til they’re bright red and happily gives them some work to do in town to help them with their steadily mounting tab at the Leville. They spend a morning wandering the streets inspecting valves. Gladio hoists the kid up onto his shoulders and tasks him with scouting out where the valves and pipes are. When they finish the job, Holly gives them a handful of gil but also offers them a ride on one of the cable cars that they use to safely get to distant power stations; she’d seen Iggy eyeballing them covetously earlier in the day and is happy to give the little charmer a treat.

According to Ignis, the ride is the highlight of his entire life and someday when he’s Chamberlain he’ll replace all of Insomnia’s street cars with cable cars. “It’s better for the environment, and more fun!”

After a few days Ignis’s shyness and reservations melt away in the face of the warm affection the three men surround him with. If Gladio is seated for more than ten seconds it’s all but guaranteed that little Ignis will make a beeline for him and boldly plop himself right down in the Shield’s lap, a book in hand and a hopeful smile on his face. Sometimes Gladio reads aloud, and sometimes he’s just there to be a comfortable spot for Ignis to curl up and read. Gladio is happy either way.

They go through all of the books that Gladio picked up at the market in record time.

As time goes on, Gladio becomes more and more aware that at some point very soon Ignis is going to return to his normal self. He hopes that he’s done enough to help him. He’ll get down on his knees and beg the Six to let Ignis remember all of the goodness and self-worth they’ve tried to fill him with. He’ll lick Ramuh’s ugly-ass shoes if it helps.

The gods are fickle and cruel and unmoved by the pleas of mere mortals, as Gladio very well knows. So he knows that he needs to take matters into his own hands as much as possible.

One night, when Prompto suggests they head over to the ice cream stand in the plaza to “beat the heat!”, Gladio begs off and stays behind in their hotel room. It’s hot and humid and the fan in the room just seems to move the warm air around, but he has an idea, and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll have to try it.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind his companions Gladio heaves himself out of the armchair he’d been lounging in and strolls over to the bedside table. Opening the drawer he finds a pen and a pad of paper. The paper has the hotel’s letterhead on the top, but it’s a simple matter to tear that off, leaving the top of the sheet a bit ragged.

He doesn’t have much time before the others will be back. He doesn’t have time to fret over his words, there’s no time to be self-conscious or shy, nor is there time to stop and consider the surprising depth of his feelings. He merely bows his head, fills his mind with thoughts of Ignis, and let’s his big dumb heart take over, guiding the pen across the page.

_“Ignis,_

_I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but I hope you do, because you deserve to have someone tell you this. No, you NEED someone to tell you this._

_You don’t know me, but I know you. I know how kind you are and how much you care about other people. I know how hard you work and how clever you are. You are an exceptionally good child and someday you will use all of your many talents to do great things for the people of Lucis. I know that you, Ignis Stupeo Scientia, are a wonderful person who is worthy of love and you should not be treated the way that you are._

_You deserve to be cared for and cherished for the special person that you are. You should be encouraged not punished, hugged not hit. You deserve extra desserts and time to play. You deserve all of the best things in the world. You. Deserve. Them._

_I’m not in a position to give them to you, but other people are. There are people there who you can trust, like your uncle, the King, or his Shield. If anyone isn’t treating you with all of the kindness and compassion that you deserve, let them know, please. They will help you. If you ever believe anything in this life believe that._

_With all of my admiration and respect,_

_A friend._

Gladio carefully folds the note in half, and then folds it again. His hands are shaking as he picks up Ignis’s khaki shorts, the ones he arrived in. He tucks the note into one of the back pockets, glad that there’s a button on it, as if arcane magic has to obey the laws of physics and not slip out of a buttoned pocket when its owner goes hurtling through the space-time continuum, or whatever the fuck is going to happen when this is over.

“Fuck,” he breathes and flops back onto the bed, worn springs squealing in protest. He rubs his hands over his face and tries to will himself to stop shaking.

Gladio doesn’t have long to worry about whether or not he could have worded his note better or whether he should scrap it and redo the entire thing. Later that same night they’re all sitting around the table, Noctis and Gladio __claiming the armchairs, while Ignis and Prompto are settled on the floor. They’re right in the middle of a card game (that Ignis is absolutely murdering them at) when a flash of violently purple light nearly blinds them all.

When the glare fades he sees Ignis lying on the floor, glasses askew over eyes clenched tightly shut, a grimace contorting the handsome fine boned features he’s not seen in nearly a week.

 


	9. Chapter 9

“Ignis!” three voices cry out in unison, a symphony of fear, panic and confusion upon seeing their friend collapse.

Prompto, who is already at his side, crouches over Ignis, his pale hands fluttering out a series of anxious touches across the other man’s sharply furrowed brow. Gladio and Noctis race around the coffee table to join them, worry making them careless and clumsy, knocking their chairs over in the process. The resulting thuds and crashes make Ignis grimace miserably.

Between them Ignis trembles as waves of pain seem to break over him again and again. His delicate jaw clenches, the muscles in his cheeks flexing as he bites back his cries. His long limbs are stiff with tension and he looks as though he might break under any more pressure.

“What’s wrong with him?” Noctis demands, panic elevating his pitch.

“I dunno dude!” Prompto says helplessly.

Gladio crouches down beside Ignis’s supine form, assessing him first with worried eyes and then, seeing no obvious injury, with cautious hands.

“Did he maybe get hurt during that hunt?” Noct asks the room at large before sinking his teeth firmly into his bottom lip, worrying at the flesh there until it’s red and swollen.

“Dunno. Doesn’t seem to be,” Gladio murmurs. He glides his palms carefully over the taut lines of Ignis’s torso, following the elegant flare of his hips down to his thighs and legs. Prompto catches a clue and does the same with Ignis’s arms and head. Everything feels fine, there’s no blood and all of Ignis’s bits and pieces seem to be intact. _And beautiful. So goddamn beautiful, like a marble statue come to life._

Gladio clears his throat and gives himself a mental shake because now is definitely not the time for that shit. “I’m not finding any injuries.”

“Same,” Prompto breathes, though he continues to comb his fingertips through Ignis’s hair, the action now soothing rather than searching, Ignis’s groans becoming quieter and less frequent. “\What do we do?”

For probably the thousandth time since this little misadventure of theirs began, Gladio puts himself in Ignis’s impeccably polished fancy shoes. The easiest way of knowing what to do is to imagine what Ignis would do if any of them were lying on a tacky hotel carpet in obvious pain.

“Get his ass off the fuckin’ floor for a start,” Gladio growls.

Gladio slides gentle hands beneath Ignis’s knees and shoulders, carefully removing him from the harshness of the floor and into the tenderness of his arms. Gladio grunts with effort and blocks out the burning in his thighs as he forces himself to his feet with Ignis draped in his arms bridal-style. The other man may be slender, but he’s all lean muscle, a solid and heavy dead weight in his arms.

Gladio does his best not to jostle Ignis as he gently lays him down upon the bed, ensuring that his his head meets the pillow. Ignis winces, a soft whine resonating from the back of his throat despite all of Gladio’s careful handling.

Sighing, he sets about making Ignis as comfortable as possible, because that’s what Ignis would do for any of them if their situations were reversed. He carefully pulls off the man’s glasses, folding them and setting them on the bedside table. He then moves to the foot of the bed to ease Ignis’s feet out of his shoes before lining them up neatly beside the bed, just the way he knows Ignis would like them.

“Here,” Noctis mumbles, holding out a pale hand, revealing a damp washcloth dripping onto the bedspread. Glaido hadn’t even noticed the prince ducking into the bathroom to fetch it.

“Thanks,” Gladio murmurs, taking the cloth and settling it over Ignis’s creased brow, hoping that the coolness will help soothe whatever is paining him.

Prompto bustles about, a flurry of nervous energy, dimming the lamps until the room glows in tones of deep sepia and ochre, the corners swallowed by deep shadows.

After a few minutes of grimacing and whimpering, Ignis grows quiet, his breathing a deep, easy rhythm that swells his chest, purple coeurl print growing taut with each breath.

“I think he’s asleep,” Noct whispers the obvious.

Gladio loses track of time as they sit by Ignis, Gladio and Noct to either side of him while Prompto curls up at his feet. Gladio smiles, enjoying the sight of Ignis surrounded by people who care about him. Even Prompto, who hasn’t known Ignis for as long or as well, is fussing over him like a concerned mama chocobo with her chick. Gladio smiles despite the stress still bearing down on him, thinking that being cared for is a good look for Ignis.

“It’s weird,” Prompto whispers. It’s hard to hear him down at the foot of the bed, but he doesn’t dare speak up for fear of waking up Ignis. “Sometimes I forgot that the little guy was actually…” he gestures at Ignis lying on the bed in his perfectly tailored Crownsguard fatigues. Prompto wrings his hands, twisting his fingers together. “I could kinda pretend he was just some random kid we found and were helping, y’know? But he wasn’t. That was really our Ignis.”

A sad smile curves Gladio’s lips and he knows it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hard to believe, huh blondie. He’s always been so perfect and put together, you’d never think someone like him had gone through that shit.” He shakes his head sadly.

Noct makes a soft and unhappy sound from Ignis’s other side, but doesn’t say anything. He simply flips the washcloth around to lay the cooler side across Ignis’s forehead.

* * *

 

An hour or so later Ignis snaps to wakefulness with surprising alacrity. Seafoam eyes flutter open, vibrant and luminous without his glasses to obscure their uncommon beauty. With a gasp he shoots to a sitting position, elegant fingers reaching to adjust the spectacles he’s not wearing. Ignis frowns in obvious displeasure and Gladio reaches over to the nightstand to fetch them for him, earning himself a grateful smile.

“My thanks,” Ignis murmurs, fastidiously adjusting the placement of his glasses instead of meeting any of their worried gazes. He swings his long legs over the side of the bed, and only Gladio’s hand on his shoulder keeps him in place.

“Woah there, take it easy, yeah?” Gladio murmurs, giving Ignis’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Are you okay?” Noctis asks, voice small and tentative, as if Ignis would ever admit to being anything other than ‘ _perfectly fine thank you_ ’.

“No worse for wear,” Ignis reassures him, gloved hands now fussing with his shirt cuffs. He still isn’t looking any of them in the eye, instead addressing his words to a patch of carpet near his socked feet. “Apologies for worrying you all.”

“What happened? You collapsed and were all..” Prompto flaps his hands awkwardly. “Groany.”

Ignis adjusts his glasses, which hasn't moved a millimeter since he put them on. “Ahh. Yes, well, it seems receiving a week’s worth of memories at once is rather taxing, even for my brain.” Ignis bows his head.

“So you remember everything? How you, you know…” Noctis trails off, discomfort settling heavily upon him. Gladio feels a pang of empathy for his prince. For as relieved as he is that the magic wore off and they have their Ignis back, they will eventually have to address the garula in the room: everything they learned about how Ignis was mistreated by at least some of the Citadel staff, beaten, not properly fed, and goodness knows what else that maybe didn’t come up during their time with little Iggy.

“Were half the size and twice as cute?” Prompto supplies helpfully, his sunny disposition refusing to be dimmed by the rather gloomy atmosphere. Gladio can’t help smiling to himself, mentally adding another mark in Prompto’s favor.

Ignis coughs and clears his throat delicately. He bows his head even lower, so that he’s in danger of folding himself cleanly in half if he keeps this up. “I don’t know that I would quite put it that way, but yes.”

“So your little self…?” Gladio asks, trailing off vaguely because he doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to ask.

“Never went missing from the Citadel for a week and has no idea he caused such trouble for you all.”

Gladio sighs. Cor and Dave and told them as much, that the younger self would carry on, unaware of what they had done while displaced in time, and that the older self would remember everything once the magic finally wore off. Still, he had hoped. They had all hoped.

Noctis takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, the whoosh of air loud in the otherwise quiet room. Shoulders squared and jaw set, the prince steps around the bed, until he’s standing in front of Ignis, casting a long shadow over the other man’s seated form. There’s an air of determination about him, and Gladio realizes that Noctis has probably been steeling himself for this for days.

“Specs,” Noct says softly.

“Highness, please forgive me for all of the trouble--”

“Shut up,” Noctis commands, hands balling into fists at his sides. Ignis’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click of teeth.

“Don’t you dare apologize for _anything_.”

Ignis lets out a tremulous little breath and nods, fiercely obedient to any royal decree. He looks decidedly uncomfortable, though, a dozen apologies on the tip of his tongue that he now has to swallow back.

Noctis rakes his fingers through his hair, making more jet black tufts stickup than usual. Gladio has seen the same mannerism in Regis, in those rare moments when the late King needed a moment to compose himself. He’ll never admit it to the brat, but sometimes he sees the best of Regis in Noct, both as a monarch and as a man, and his chest swells with pride to see an echo of the late King in the Prince.

Gladio watches, mesmerized, as Noctis lowers himself to his knees before Ignis. It should be jarring to see the royal lowering himself before his retainer, the Prince bowed before the Chamberlain. It’s the antithesis of how they were all raised and trained. It would be uncomfortable to see, he thinks, were it not for the look on Noct’s face, the open affection and respect carved into his soft features. He’s not a ruler making a perverse obeisance to his subject, but simply a man reaching out to his oldest friend, to his brother.

“If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me.” Noct says softly as he reaches, tentative and shy, to lay a hand upon Ignis’s knee.

“No!” Ignis chokes out, voice tight, as if the ghosts of the past have their fingers around his throat and are squeezing for all they’re worth. He leaps to his feet, green eyes wide and wild with panic. A stunned Noct falls back in a heap as Ignis stumbles around him.

He’s out the door before any of them have a chance to collect their wits, leaving the remaining three to stare at each other, all wearing matching looks of bewilderment.

Prompto eventually shatters the stunned silence by squeaking out “He didn’t even put on his shoes!” as if the potential for stubbed toes is what matters right now. But his words unleash a chain reaction that propels Gladio and Noctis into action.

“We have to go after him,” Noctis sighs as he pushes himself to his feet and dusts off his knees.

“Don’t think he wants company,” Gladio points out, hating himself a little bit for his honesty, because damn it all he wants to tear the hotel apart until he finds Iggy. He’s never seen Ignis so panicked, so spooked. It’s unsettling and if he’s honest, a little terrifying.

“Too bad,” Noct snaps. “He’s not in his right state of mind. Like Prom said, he doesn’t even have shoes on, and we don’t know if that daemon’s magic has any other side effects.”

“Fuck,” Gladio rubs his face and groans. “You’re right.”

Prompto bounces to his feet. “Let’s go then! Where do you think Ignis would go?”

“Uh uh,” Gladio holds a hand up. He glares, summoning all of the gravity and dignity of his lineage to make himself look as fierce and immovable as possible. Titan himself would be impressed. “You two stay here. I’ll go out and look.” Noct opens his mouth, a torrent of furious protests ready to be unleashed on Gladio, and he knows it. “No arguments, Noct. Someone needs to stay behind in case Iggy comes back, and with the Empire still nosing around the city I don’t want you two wandering around on your own.”

“Asshole,” Noctis grumbles, but he takes a seat on the bed instead of trying to make a dash for the door.

“Sorry, Noct.”

“Whatever. Just go find him.” It’s Noct’s turn to glare. “Just bring him back safe and sound.”

* * *

The doorman of the Leville hasn’t seen anyone matching Ignis’s description leave the building, and Ignis isn’t in the lobby or the adjacent bar. Gladio is quickly running out of options. He’s beginning to wonder if he should start knocking on random doors when something catches his eye.

At the end of the hallway is a heavy door with ‘No Entry’ emblazoned on it in peeling white paint. It seems that someone has little regard for the rules tonight, because the door is slightly ajar and the carpet fibers are smooshed in a wide arc in front of it.

“Gotcha,” he grumbles to himself. Stealing a glance over his shoulder to make sure no one is looking his way, he tugs the door open and slips inside.

He finds a set of bare concrete steps leading up to another door. A lone bulb dangles above his head to only barely light his way. Stepping as lightly as he can with his heavy boots, he climbs the stairs to the door which he realizes must lead to the hotel’s roof.

Gladio pushes the door open and as expected finds Ignis. The strategist is sitting on the concrete base of the roof with his back to the door. The sky above is a stunning tableau of stars twinkling through a haze of reflected light from the meteor. Despite this, Ignis has his head down and back bowed, seemingly staring at his lap rather than the heavenly light show.

Now that he’s found his friend and can see with his own two eyes that he’s safe, Gladio isn’t sure what he should do. He feels suddenly like he’s intruding on Ignis, a man who so seldom gets any time to himself, and who probably desperately needs it after whatever the last week looks like from his point of view. After a week of fussing over young Ignis, though, it’s hard to leave him alone up here, the instinct to protect and safeguard is so strong.

He’s still hovering in the doorway, dithering between sneaking away or remaining to stand vigil, when Ignis deftly plucks the burden of choice from his hands.

“I know you’re there, Gladio. You can come out,” Ignis calls in his melodious baritone, deep.and rich as his cherished Ebony.

Gladio makes a mental note to ask Ignis how he knew that he was there. Damn he’s good.

“Sorry for intruding,” Gladio murmurs and takes a few cautious steps out onto the roof, unable to shake the feeling that he is intruding on Ignis, violating what remains of his privacy after a week spent being so vulnerable with them, exposing aspects of himself that surely he’d never meant to.

“It’s fine” Ignis reassures him, shaking his head which remains bowed over his lap. “I know you were just worried about me.”

“Yeah,” Gladio chuckles, the sound a bit more coarse than usual, roughened with genuine concern. “Sorry. It’s become a habit after looking after little you all week. I think we’ll need some time to adjust, y’know?” They’ll need time to adjust to more than Ignis’s restored adulthood and independence and they both know it, but now seems like a poor time to bring up how, _oh hey, we kind of accidentally found out this big secret you’ve been keeping forever and the whole dynamic of our group has been smashed to bits because of it._

Ignis huffs the breathy little laugh that Gladio has dearly missed all week. “I do a poor job of showing it, but I do appreciate it. All of it.”

“I know. We all know.” Gladio smiles, even if Ignis isn’t looking to see it. “You okay?”

There’s a long pause, as if Ignis is giving the question actual thought before answering, his voice soft and subdued. “Yes. It was simply a lot to take in all at once, and then Noct tried to apologize to _me_ of all people…” Even from a distance Gladio can see Ignis shudder. “I needed a moment to collect myself.”

Gladio’s face falls as the ball of guilt that’s been festering in his gut gets bigger. “See? I _am_ intruding. I’m sorry.”

Before Gladio can retreat and leave Ignis to sort through his thoughts, the other man holds a hand up, gloved fingers curling, beckoning him over. “Join me?”

Hesitantly, Gladio takes a few more steps forward until he’s right next to Ignis, and it’s then that he finally sees what Ignis has been looking at this entire time.  In Ignis’s hand is the note, Gladio’s note that he’d written earlier that evening, his clumsy attempt at putting words to how he feels about Ignis, both the charming little boy and the extraordinary man he grew into. Elegant fingertips caress the paper, reverently tracing swirls of ink faded with time.

“You cannot imagine my surprise when I found this in my pocket. I was sure it wasn’t there when I dressed that morning, but there it was, crinkling in my back pocket when I sat down for lunch.” Ignis chuckles softly. “I kept it all of these years, even though I had long given up hope of identifying its author.”

Gladio folds his bulky frame to sit on the ground beside Ignis, heedless of how hard and uncomfortable it is. He has to tamp down on the impulse to offer his lap for Ignis to sit on, even though the concrete is hardly a worthy seat for someone like Ignis, whom he holds in such high esteem now.

It’s surreal, seeing the note that he penned mere hours ago in Ignis’s hand, the paper yellowed and ink faded with a passage of time that Gladio cannot account for. It hits home then, like a punch to the gut, how far away that precocious and ever so sweet six-year-old is, forever beyond his reach now, returned to the people and place that tormented him. An icy shiver tears down Gladio’s spine in spite of the humid air as he remembers the welts and bruises marring young Ignis’s back.

“You must have thought the fairies spirited it into your pocket.” Gladio quirks half of a smile.

“Initially I thought that it was a trap of some sorts, a test of loyalty that I would fail if I heeded its advice and asked for help.” Ignis says in a faraway tone, his gaze still downswept to the scrap of paper in his hand. “Later my working theory became that it was written by a fellow servant of the Crown who was kind and compassionate, and who for some unknown reason simply wasn’t able to do more.” Ignis finally turns to fix Gladio with a pointed look. “It seems I was correct.”

Gladio opens his mouth with every intention of making actual words happen. There is so much that he wants to tell Ignis, and so much that he in turn wants to ask his friend. His throat feels tight, though, his tongue dry as sandpaper. All he can do is nod.

“Was it just you, or…?” Ignis asks softly.

Again Gladio nods, licking his dry lips.

Ignis laughs gently. “I’ve spent years fantasizing about what I would say if the impossible happened and I had an opportunity to speak to the kind person--my guardian angel as it were--who wrote this.” A smile softens Ignis’s features and warms seafoam eyes. “How I might use something as clumsy and limited as mere words to express my deepest gratitude for their compassion, to impress upon them how much they changed my life for the better, and how a day doesn’t go by when I don’t think very fondly of them and thank the Six for their presence in my life, fleeting as it seemed to be.” Ignis pauses, tongue tip sneaking out to wet his lips. “Not so fleeting after all, and I must confess that I find myself at a loss for how to repay my many debts to you.”

Gladio can feel his cheeks burning, embarrassed by praise he doesn’t think that he deserves. He didn’t do anything special, he thinks, and what little he did came fifteen years too late anyway. Whatever sweet words Ignis may have for him, he’ll always be haunted by the knowledge that he failed Ignis when they were children. If anything what little he did for Ignis this week should go towards making amends to the other for his failures. He’s trying to scrape his thoughts together into coherent words when Ignis continues speaking.

“You are quite simply the finest person I’ve been privileged to know,” Ignis says softly, the ambient sounds of the city floating up to them threatening to drown him out.

Gladio ducks his head and shrugs his broad shoulders, feeling oddly bashful. The way that Ignis is looking at him now, like he’s this wonderful person, his guardian angel as he’d put it, is too much. Gladio knows that he doesn’t deserve this sudden reverence Ignis seems to hold him in. Really, it’s the other way around. The ugliness he sees now in Ignis’s past only serves to highlight how beautiful he is in contrast.

His impulse is to deflect, to ease the mood by making light of the situation. He wants to gently tease Ignis for not immediately realizing that wonky time travelling magics were at work and wasn’t it soooo obvious that it was a grown up Gladio who had written the note, nevermind the fact that they barely knew each other back then? Shame on Ignis the great strategist for not solving the impossible mystery.

There is something indescribably precious clinging to the edges of this moment, and Gladio knows that it’ll shatter if he gives in to his urge to be flippant and brush it off.  Instead he forces his chin up, warm topaz finding bright peridot, weathering that reverent stare in spite of how unworthy he feels. Taking a deep breath he lets it out slowly and says simply, “I meant it all, y’know. Every word.”

Now it’s Ignis’s turn to be bashful. Even under starlight’s silver kiss his cheeks are vibrantly pink with embarrassed heat. “Come now,” he murmurs, chin dipping low. “No need for idle flattery.”

Gladio snorts. “Is it flattery if it’s true?” It’s impulsive and possibly the stupidest thing he’s ever done, but he reaches over, callused fingers sliding beneath Ignis’s fine boned chin and tilting it back up again. He just can’t bear to see him with his head down any longer, as if he’s ashamed or embarrassed of himself, as if he is somehow lacking or undeserving of the praise Gladio wants to heap on him. He’s Ignis fucking Scientia, the smartest and bravest man Gladio knows. He’s the man who does his duty with pride and devotion, when anyone else would have probably flipped the Crown the middle finger and walked away after the way he was treated. He’s the man who takes such exquisite care of everyone around him, even though it seems like no one was there to properly take care of him.

Ignis fucking Scientia lowers his head to no man. Except maybe Noct on account of him being royalty, but given the depths of guilt Noct has been drowning in all week, Gladio is pretty sure Ignis gets a pass on bowing and scraping for awhile.

Ignis smiles at him, crooked and rueful. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t know how to repay you for everything you’ve done. The others as well, of course.”

Gladio knows that he should pull back but he just can’t force his fingers away from the soft skin of Ignis’s chin. His fingers are trapped there, drawn to Ignis by some magnetic force.  He rubs the pad of his thumb gently along the delicate curve of Ignis’s jaw and murmurs. “Be happy?” he asks softly. “All we want is for you to be happy, Iggy. That’s more than enough.”

“I am,” Ignis assures him, his crooked smile straightening into something broad and dazzling. “And I was, eventually. Truly.”

“What happened?” Gladio asks before his brain has a chance to catch up with his foolish mouth. Wincing, he shakes his head and leans back, both hands lifted with his palms out in a placating gesture. “Sorry, sorry. Not cool of me. Obviously you don’t need to talk about it.” He scowls. “You don’t owe us anything, Iggy.”

“I know that,” Ignis replies. He sighs, shoulders slumping, all of the wind gone out of his sails. “But whatever you’ve all imagined is almost certainly worse than the reality of what happened, and it would be cruel of me to not ease your minds.”

Gladio groans and buries his face in a broad palm. “Ignis, for once in your life stop worrying about the rest of us.”

Full lips quirk into a wry smile. “If I knew how to do that I can assure you I would have stopped worrying long ago, you lot are giving me gray hairs with your antics.”

Gladio grins and stands up, offering a hand to Ignis, quietly grateful when the other accepts.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with all of the talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy heck, I am so sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. True story, when your local population doubles with tourist season, your already busy hospital becomes completely nuts, so I've been working a lot (days off are for the weak, as Iggy would say!).
> 
> Anyway, thank you for your patience to anyone still reading this. <3

When they return to their hotel room they find Noctis and Prompto sitting on one of the beds, heads tilted towards each other so closely that their foreheads almost touch. The hushed words between them dissolve to nothingness when the door creaks open, and two sets of blue eyes flick up to regard Gladio and Ignis.

Based on their matching guilty expressions, the two were almost definitely talking about Ignis.

“Hey guys,” three of them murmur. Ignis merely dips his chin down in a graceful nod.

Fingertips press lightly to the small of Ignis’s back as Gladio encourages him to move towards the unoccupied bed. Ignis stumbles at the gentle pressure but quickly regains his equilibrium. It makes Gladio’s heart stutter; Ignis has always been the living embodiment of grace under pressure to Gladio’s mind, and it hurts to see him so clearly discomfited.

Ignis settles onto the edge of the bed, his back ramrod straight and hands folded primly in his lap, gaze like a stormy sea cast down. He looks like a naughty child who’s been dragged before a wrathful parent--a look Gladio had absolutely _mastered_ in his primary school years. Hoping that his presence will be a comfort, Gladio sits cross-legged beside him, ignoring the way the mattress dips with springs squealing in protest beneath their combined weight.

The note he’d written is tucked into the breast pocket of Ignis’s shirt, and Gladio swears that he can see the thin scrap of paper bulging beneath the lilac coeurl print, tangible proof of this new connection they seem to have forged, an invisible cord that’s bound them together throughout most of Ignis’s lifetime with neither of them being the wiser.. As if reading Gladio’s mind, gloved fingers pat at the pocket before resettling atop Ignis’s lap, and with that Ignis’s lithe frame seems to lean towards him, like a sapling bending into the life-giving blessing of the sun.  

Gladio hopes that it’s more than mere gravity that draws Ignis nearer to him.

It’s obvious that the note he’d written is important to Ignis, after all, he’d kept it for all of these long years.  Hell, he’d even taken it with him on this ill-fated road trip of theirs, when they’d all only packed the bare essentials, not knowing that their suitcases would soon become all that they have left of their homes. Essentials. Is that what the note is to Ignis? Essential? Is it so dear to him that out of all of his worldly possessions, it made the cut when so many precious treasures were left behind to be burnt or buried beneath the rubble of their former lives?

The thought of something he had done, his words written in his own hand being so important to Ignis makes his head spin. It’s almost like he, Gladio, is so precious to him. He shivers, nerves tingling, hyperaware of Ignis perched scant inches away, close enough that he can feel the warmth of Ignis’s body seeping into his side, setting his nerve endings alight by simple proximity.

Silence continues to reign for long moments. Somehow Gladio doesn’t feel as if it’s his place to break it. He’s had his moment with Ignis, his beautiful, shining moment, anointed by starlight and Ignis’s smile. There are still a hundred questions prickling on the tip of his tongue, but he feels like this is Noct’s time, and Prompto’s too.

Besides, he still feels punch drunk and giddy sitting beside Ignis. He’s hardly capable of steering a conversation, let alone such a sensitive one.

In the end it’s Prompto who puts the metaphorical boots to his companions and spurs them into action. Clearing his throat, Prompto flinches at how loud the simple gesture sounds in the otherwise silent hotel room. Grimacing at himself, he bravely soldiers on. “Sooo… any chance we can all agree that no one has anything to apologize for, but we would all totally accept each other’s apology if given? Bing, bang, boom everyone good?” A crooked smile and two fingerguns punctuate his words.

Their laughter is soft, aborted by nerves, but it’s there, and Gladio appreciates Prompto’s efforts to lighten the mood.

“If only it worked that way, Prompto. Diplomatic negotiations would be markedly simpler.” A rueful smile twists Ignis’s lips.

“Okay, okay.” Prompto waves his hands airily. “Well since it looks like you two are set on having Apologyfest 756 or whatever, can I at least moderate?”

“I was joking about that,” Noctis hisses, punching Prompto in the arm to drive home his point.

Ignis laughs softly, a little huff of air, and he gestures graciously. “By all means.”

“Sooo who wants to go first? Noct?” Prompto asks, cerulean gaze flitting between them. “Is getting to go first one of the perks of being royalty?” He smiles easily, tenaciously hammering on the tense atmosphere with his sunny disposition.

Noctis fidgets where he sits beside Prompto, bed springs creaking beneath his shifting weight. The prince is picking idly at his cuticles, and it’s a testament to how anxious he is that Ignis doesn’t reprimand him for the nervous habit. “I uh…” Noctis clears his throat. “I don’t think it went so well last time when I tried that.” Noctis takes a deep breath, and Gladio can see blood beading at the corner of his thumb where he’s savaged the nail. “Ignis? You have the floor, if you want it.”

Ignis removes his glasses and unearths a handkerchief from his breast pocket, meticulously polishing the lenses while he gathers his thoughts, or perhaps his courage. Gladio is amused to see that the square of black silk has Ignis’s initials embroidered on it with fine silver thread. It’s all so very _extra_ , and while Gladio would typically find a monogrammed handkerchief to be ridiculous and pretentious, in Ignis\s hand it’s simply charming.

When Ignis’s glasses are squeaky clean and perched high on the bridge of his nose once more, he clears his throat delicately. “Thank you, Noct. I would like to apologize, if you’ll indulge me.”

“I can’t imagine what for,” Noctis mutters, low and bitter. A swift kick to the ankle courtesy of Prompto shushes him. The self-appointed Apologyfest moderator nods at Ignis, silently encouraging him to continue speaking.

“First, my apologies for departing so abruptly and so rudely earlier. Though it doesn’t excuse my poor manners, please try to understand. I was still processing all of these new memories, and then you, Noct, my _King_ kneeling to apologize to _me,_ well it was all a bit much and I’m afraid I urgently needed to get some fresh air.”

“No, no.” Noctis waves his hands inarticulately. “I totally get it. We, and by _we_ I guess I really mean _me_ should have given you some space instead of ambushing you like that. Sorry Specs. I guess, I dunno, I’d been rehearsing in my head what I’d say to you once you were back, and I didn’t think to give you a minute to get used to being _you_ again.”

“It’s no matter.” A gentle smile softens the harsh lines of Ignis’s pinched, anxious features. “Ah, but if I may, I fear a few more apologies are in order on my end?” Seafoam gaze flickers to Prompto, who nods his gracious approval, taking his duties Very Seriously.

“I must apologize to all of you for creating this entire mess in the first place.” Gloved hands gesture expansively, encompassing his three companions and the hotel room that has been their home for the past five nights. “Had I been more conscientious of my surroundings when we fought that ghoul, I could have avoided that curse. My carelessness cost us considerable time and and a hefty hotel bill, not to mention the amount of stress and upset I caused you all.”

Ignis stops to take a breath, and within those scant seconds Gladio’s heart begins to crumble. It’s just so very like Ignis to take the blame like this, when he hasn’t done anything wrong. There was no predicting or avoiding the ghoul’s de-aging effect, and they all know it because they were there too, but when has something as trivial as facts or fairness ever stopped Ignis fucking Scientia from shouldering everyone else’s burdens? Never, that’s when.

“I truly am so sorry. I’ll work myself to the bone to make up for the time and the gil I cost us, I promise you all. I will make amends, and when I do, I hope you’ll have the grace to forgive me for this mess.” Ignis inclines his head briefly, the closest thing to an obeisance he can perform while still sitting distractingly close to Gladio.

Identical frowns adorn the faces of the other three members of the group. After trying to fill Ignis’s fabulous and glittery shoes all week, the trio is acutely aware of just how much Ignis does for them on a daily basis, with planning their next move, cooking, doing their laundry, driving, mending their gear, and keeping their supplies organized and well-stocked just to name a few of the labors he’s tasked himself with. Ignis already does more than his fair share, and the thought of him taking on even more in a misguided attempt at making reparations is absurd. Hell, Gladio reckons it would probably be a crime against humanity or something.

“Iggy,” Gladio rumbles a low warning. “Don’t even think about it. You don’t owe us shit and already do too much.”

“Yeah.” Noctis scowls, lip curling up like someone is waving three bean salad under his nose. “It’s fine. We did some jobs and it’ll only take a hunt or two to put us in the black again. And anyway, you’re more important than any of that.”

“Yes, well.” Ignis sniffs and adjusts his glasses with his middle and index fingers. “There’s still the stress I put you all under. Let me set your minds at ease now; I grew up perfectly fine and well thank you, and you shouldn’t put too much stock in the babblings of a small child who was, as I recall, still adjusting to life in the Citadel. Yes, there were some difficulties at first, but I can assure you, that unfortunate situation was taken care of a long time ago. Regardless, even at six I knew better than to sulk and make a spectacle of myself, and why I chose to do so with you lot is beyond me, but I do apologize for it.”

All week Gladio has struggled to keep his anger, his righteous fucking fury, at bay. All week long as he’s watched over little Iggy he’s entertained some pretty vivid fantasies about tracking down the people who hurt Ignis (because people who abuse children are essentially human cockroaches so they probably survived the fall of Insomnia) and giving them a lesson, free of charge, on how it feels to be hit repeatedly by someone bigger than them. He’s kept himself in check, though, if only for the sake of not terrifying the kid.

This, though, the way Ignis is trying to minimize what happened, is too much. Does Ignis think they’re that stupid? He’s trying to brush off his own revelations of abuse as nothing more than the babblings of a homesick child looking for attention? He saw the damn marks on his back, saw the way Ignis flinched and cowered away from them, and saw him through more than one panic attack.

More damningly, Gladio saw how much Ignis had treasured his letter, and surely his silly halfway-lovesick ramblings wouldn’t have resonated so soundly in Ignis if he hadn’t been in dire need of affection at the time.

He doesn’t remember propelling himself off of the bed, but he’s glad that he did. When the mental fog clears Gladio is as surprised as anyone else to find himself standing next to the wall a few feet away, his knuckles split and throbbing, with the wall sporting a spiderweb crack. Better the wall than one of his friends, though, and he’s glad that his primitive lizard brain had the sense to steer him towards an inanimate object.

Shit, they’re gonna hafta rearrange the artwork in here to cover that up, though.

“Gladiolus!” Ignis hisses, utterly scandalized by the property damage.

“ _Dude_ ,” Prompto and Noctis breathe in wonderment, equal parts impressed and intimidated. They all know that Gladio is strong, it’s kind of the headline on his resume, but he’s never been prone to random or senseless acts of violence. They've never seen him punch a damn wall before. Never. He’s been conditioned and trained for too long and from too tender an age to lose control like this.

Gladio ignores the pain blistering across his injured knuckles. He tries to ignore the shame curling inside his chest. He tries to tune out his father’s disappointed voice in his head, scolding him for being careless, for forgetting that his entire body is a weapon and must be kept carefully controlled at all times.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. Thick fingers curl into fists, and he relishes the way the movement stretches the torn skin, savors the sting and the ache of it. It keeps him grounded, centered, focused.

He takes a deep breath, then another and another, until he’s sure his voice will be steady. “Sorry,” he says again. “I just wasn’t going to keep sitting there while Ignis acts like we’re stupid enough to buy his little song and dance about how he was talking nonsense when he said that people beat him, and didn't feed him right, and fuck knows what else. Because we saw it for ourselves, and we’re not stupid. Not nearly as clever and gifted as our Iggy here, but we’re not _stupid_ . And it doesn’t matter if the situation was _taken care o_ f,” he sketches air quotes with his fingers. “It never should’ve happened at all.”

He rounds on Noctis and Prompto, as if they’re somehow to blame for something, jabbing his index finger at them as he continues. “He doesn’t owe us the dirty details, and we never have to talk about this again if Iggy isn’t comfortable with it, It’s his damn right. But--” he pauses, takes a few more breaths, because he’s teetering on the edge of losing his cool again and needs to rein his temper back in. “But,” he continues more softly, still glowering at the younger two, “he doesn’t get to lie to us and tell us it was no big deal, not after everything we’ve been through together, yeah?”

Everyone nods and makes agreeable mumblings, either because they feel the same or are simply not about to get in the way of this warpath he’s on.

“Apologies,” Ignis finally says, his voice low and gentle. Soothing. “I simply don’t want a very distant part of my past to wreak further havoc on our present.” His peridot gaze flicks from one man to the next before settling on Noctis. “Noct, that you felt any need to apologize to me at all tells me that this has already hurt you more than I can accept.  And looking back, I’m sensible to things that my younger self wasn’t and I recognize instances where I clearly upset you all, and I cannot tell you how deeply I regret that. There is a reason why none of you knew about any of that unfortunate business, and it was to spare you that exact hurt.”

“C-can I say something?” Prompto asks hesitantly, seemingly forgetting his self-appointed role as moderator.

Noctis is too busy staring glumly at his boots to stop him. Gladio is preoccupied with suppressing his temper. Ignis seems to have said his piece and is attempting to blend into the wallpaper.

Prompto takes a deep breath and plunges bravely on like the good soldier he is. “I mean, yeah, we were upset, who wouldn’t be? But we weren’t upset at _you_ , Ignis, or because of you, or like, whatever, y’know?” He seems to recognize that he’s spiralling and he pauses, takes another deep breath, and tries again. “If we’re upset at anyone it’s the stupid people who hurt you and that’s not your fault, like, at all. You’ll probably skin me alive with a kitchen knife for saying this, but you were seriously the cutest and best-behaved kid I’ve ever friggin’ seen and, like, I just don’t know why anyone would even think they’d have to do such messed up stuff to get you to do what they wanted, y’know? And, well,” Prompto pauses to fiddle with his bracelet, twirling it around his thin wrist. “I know you don’t want to burden us with all of that crap, but dude, we’re your friends. As much as it sucks, we want to be there for you. And stuff,” Prompto trails off lamely, blushing like a ripe tomato when he realizes how much he’s babbled.

Not exactly eloquent, Gladio thinks, but Prompto\s artlessness almost lends his words a certain credibility.

Ignis manages a weak smile. “Thank you, Prompto. All of you, truly. Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course,” Noctis murmurs. “And, I guess, apology accepted, not that you owed us any, but,” Noctis waves his hands. “If it makes you feel better.”

“Ditto!” Prompto says, and he snaps his mouth shut with an audible clacking of teeth, probably trying to stop himself from word vomiting on them all again.

Gladio rubs his knuckles and shamefacedly reclaims his spot on the bed beside Ignis. “Yeah, unnecessary apologies accepted. Uh, if you’ll accept mine for fucking up the wall.” He winces, glancing at the crack and then quickly away.

Ignis laughs and shakes his head gently. “You lot are something else.”

“You good?” Prompto asks, nodding to Ignis.

“Indeed. Thank you for indulging me, and forgiving me.”

Noctis clears his throat, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “If I promise not to kneel or do anything else to embarrass Specs, am I allowed to apologize now?”

“If you must,” Ignis intones in that dry, somewhat smarmy delivery that Gladio has seriously missed.

“I must,” Noctis says, arms crossed.

Prompto grins and gestures grandly. “His Royal Laziness, Prince of Fishing, Noct Gar, first of his name, has the floor.”

“Ugh I hate you,” Noctis mutters at Prompto, before turning his attention to Ignis.

Beside him, Gladio can feel the tension beginning to radiate off of Ignis, he fairly crackles with it. Silent prayers are offered to the Astrals that Noct keeps this brief and as not-fucking-awkward as possible.

“Look, Specs,” Noctis begins in the low, restrained voice normally reserved for precarious diplomatic ventures. “I know you don’t want me to apologize for what you went through, either because I was just a kid too, or out of some misguided idea about propriety and social classes and blah blah Noct isn’t allowed to be in the wrong.” The prince makes a face, telegraphing in no uncertain terms how he feels about the way his status sets him above and apart from others. “And, well, I’d argue about the second but not the first. Yeah I was just a kid, littler than you, so I get that I shouldn’t blame myself, even if some of the times you were punished was because of something that I did wrong.”

“Indeed,” Ignis agrees easily. “I’m glad that you understand that none of that was your fault. So you truly needn’t apologize.”

Noctis shakes his head slightly. “It still doesn’t feel right. At the very least, Specs, I need to apologize to you on behalf of the Crown.” He grimaces. “You were mistreated by Crown employees for the sake of your own duties to the Crown, and it never should have happened like that. You were devoting your whole life to us, to _me_ specifically. The Crown was supposed to repay your loyalty and sacrifice with respect, appreciation, and fair compensation. That’s how it’s supposed to work. So, as the current head of the monarchy, I formally and sincerely apologize for the way you were treated. If there’s ever a way that Lucis can make it up to you, it will be done.”

Gladio can’t help it, he gawks at Noctis, who sounds suddenly every bit the king that he was born to be. He can see shades of Regis in his friend, the wisdom, the sense of justice and equity, the strength tempered with compassion. Noct doesn’t quite have his father’s gravitas or eloquence, but by the Six, he’s getting there.

Ignis looks every bit as proud and surprised as Gladio and there’s a long, uncomfortable moment where Gladio wonders if Ignis might actually be moved to tears. It doesn’t take long, though, before Ignis is clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses, every bit as calm and collected as ever.

“Thank you, Noct. Your father has already graciously apologized on the monarchy’s behalf, but I humbly accept yours as well.” He coughs, politely, into the crook of his arm, the only sign that the mask of his composure may be wearing thin. “And may I say, your friendship, straining on my poor nerves as it may be at times, has always been more than enough compensation for the execution of my duties.”

“Geeze,” Noctis says, breaking into a grin, as bright and relieving as the sun after a week-long storm. “It’s okay, you can admit that I’m super awesome and your most favourite person ever, no need to be so formal about it.”

Ignis laughs, and not his usual little restrained huff of air, but a deep rich laugh that makes Gladio’s chest vibrate to sit beside him. “Careful, Highness, or I may tender my resignation, and then who will be your chamberlain? Prompto?” A perfect brow arches. “You’d never survive.”

“Rude!” Prompto cries. “Accurate, but still rude.”

Everyone laughs together, and it feels incredible, like they can all properly breathe again for the first time in ages.

The air isn’t entirely clear between them yet, and Gladio still has questions about what exactly happened. Ignis’s off-handed revelation that Regis has at some point apologized for the abuse only stokes the embers of Gladio’s curiosity into a roaring fire once more. But for right now it is enough that they can sit together like this, laughing and teasing each other.

He manages to catch Ignis’s eye while the other two are distractedly bickering over whether or not Noct would starve if Prompto were in charge of the cooking. Keeping his voice pitched low enough to avoid being overheard by anyone other than Ignis, he murmurs. “Missed you. Never realized how awesome you were ‘til you were gone.”

Ignis’s smile is faint, almost coy, but his eyes are as bright and hopeful as a spring morning.

And once again Ignis’s body seems to tilt towards him, bowed but unbroken, until their shoulders touch and Ignis is leaning against him, and Gladio’s heart stalls and skips a beat.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! 
> 
> Also this is my first kinkmeme fill soooooo be gentle, I know not what I do.


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